~~~
THE BETRAYAL
~~~
The following chapter will differ between perspectives.
ASTRAEA'S P.O.V
BLOOD, HOT STICKY BLOOD. It coated Astraea's hands as they shook uncontrollably, her warm, brown eyes glaring down at them in shock and fear. Then, she looked to the ground where her Queen lay, barely breathing, small whispers of air pressing past her lips. Her Queen, the woman who was neither cruel or harsh to her, she had not known her long, but she saw the kindness with Valencia's heart and soul. The Lord of Light had spoken to her, whispered that Valencia had an important role to play in the future. But what future would that be now that she is dead?
The moment she had been grabbed by the prisoner, everyone had leapt into action. But no one was quick enough to stop the blade from piercing through her flesh. Astraea will never forget the way her friend screamed, how she gasped, winced, and whimpered before she hit the floor. That soul-sickening thud that would forever haunt Astraea.
Dacey Mormont was barking orders at the guards to take the prisoner back into the dungeons, so he would be executed later, for all attention must be on their Queen.
Their dying Queen.
A wheezing noise drifted from Valencia's mouth, her eyelids shut, and blood continuously oozing out of her body in warm, lava-like pools. Astraea couldn't move, nor could she look away from Valencia. Even as the maester arrived and pushed her out of the way, she did not move.
For what resembled hours, in a jumbled daze Astraea watched her Queen struggle to hold onto breath, and life. Twice the maester began pounding on her chest, breathing into her mouth, and gently slapping her cheeks. But she would not open her eyes.
The Queen was dying.
"Astraea?" Spoke a soft voice.
She turned her head seeing Dacey standing before her, her hands and armour splattered with crimson. "You should get yourself cleaned up," Dacey continued. "I'll watch over her."
Astraea turned back to Valencia, noticing the sweat that had begun to weep down the sides of her face, her beautiful skin paling a sickly grey the longer the blood flowed from her. For a moment, just a moment, Astraea swore she saw Valencia's eyes open. Her eyes were bloodshot as tears leaked from them, blood staining her chin and jaw from the spurts, and her body began to shiver.
"I will not leave her," Astraea spoke, her stubbornness and fierce compassion for Valencia rearing its head. "Leave her some dignity, for Gods sake," she hissed at the maester.
The bodice of her gown was split right open, and her so had her underclothes, exposing her breasts. Astraea knew Valencia would hate being seen like this.
"I am only trying to help," muttered the grumpy maester, his bald head shining in the light.
Astraea glared at him, but looked back down to Valencia. She saw the bloodied wound of the knife, the leaking of blood, and the ghastly wheezing of their Queen. A sickening feeling burst through Astraea's belly, the Lord of Light lied to her, to both of them. It angered her grief.
Suddenly, Valencia shot up, her mouth opening and a piercing scream erupting from her throat. Astraea, startled yanked herself back, just as the maester began trying to hold her down. It was Dacey that slid on the right of Valencia, grabbing her arms and pinning them down just as another wail escape Valencia's lips.
"It hurts!" She wailed, "make it stop! Make it stop!"
Astraea leaned forward, placing her hand on top of Valencia's head, gently calming her down so she would stop thrashing.
"Hold her still!" The maester snapped, placing his old knee on her stomach, holding her down as he opened up his case of tools. "Here," he spoke to Astraea, "make yourself useful and sterilise this with this," he handed her a pair of scissors, along with a small vile containing a liquid she did not know.
She wasted no time in cleaning the scissors before handing them back to him.
Astraea and Dacey watched as the maester began to pull viles, and tools, and bandages from his kit placing them all in front of him. He then proceeded to pull some thread through a needle before taking hold of a large vile of rose honey. Without hesitation, he took some out and began to lather it on Valencia's wound.
Pain roared through Valencia like a fire, burning up her heavily bleeding chest, it was if the blade was still in her, and every breath she took she could feel the sleek dagger bite deeper into her flesh. Her eyes snapped open, tears pooling in them, as her hoarse throat cut herself off from crying out.
Astraea returned to stroking her hair. "Shh, it's alright."
But even she didn't truly believe it.
Both Astraea and Dacey tried to calm her while the maester cleaned her wounds, but nothing they said or did stopped her cries.
"She won't stop crying," Dacey lightly spoke. "She needs to be calm."
"You think I don't know that," snapped Astraea, her pearly whites pulling into a light snarl. Valencia let out another wail, lifting her back and slamming it into the ground with faltering strength.
Astraea tried to think of anything to soothe her Queen...what had been done for her when she sick or hurt...
An idea came to her mind, an idea that she personally couldn't fufil.
"Do you know any songs?" She asked, patting Valencia's hair.
Dacey frowned, "no, not many."
"Any that will calm her?"
Dacey, with her thick brows drawn and panic on her face, looked down at Valencia, then to Astraea. "I know one," she admitted, she inhaling lightly and straightened herself up, parting her lips and beginning.
High in the halls of the kings who are gone,
Jenny would dance with her ghosts.
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,
And the ones who had loved her the most.
Dacey held onto Valencia's hand gently, softly singing.
The ones who'd been gone for so very long,
She couldn't remember their names.
They spun her around on the damp old stones,
Spun away all her sorrow and pain.
Valencia began to relax, her weeping eyes lessening, leaving only the stains and the hiccupped cries.
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave.
Astraea smiled seeing the calmness overcome their Queen, her eyes trained on Dacey.
They danced through the day
And into the night, through the snow that swept through the hall.
From winter to summer then winter again,
'Til the walls did crumble and fall.
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave.
By the end of Dacey's line, Valencia began to grunt, and wince. Her body began to twitch, her teeth biting deep into her lip. She was trying not to scream.
Astraea glanced to the maester, seeing he began to stitch up her three distinct wounds now that all the blood had been washed away.
High in the halls of the kings who are gone,
Jenny would dance with her ghosts,
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,
And the ones,
Who had loved her the most...
It was if the sound of Dacey's soothing voice was rocking her to sleep, despite the sting and yank of thread in her skin. And by the end of the song, the Queen had closed her eyes once more, pain taking her.
"Valencia?"
She did not stir.
"Valencia?" Spoke Dacey, resting her hand on the Queen's shoulders, gently shaking her.
"What's wrong with her?" Astraea asked the maester. "What have you done!"
The maester finished off his stitch, turning his head to her. "She has fallen asleep; the blood loss has exhausted her. But do not fret, she is not dead."
For some time, both Dacey and Astraea remained with Valencia, watching her chest rise and fall slowly, the maester finishing up the stitching before ordering one of the guards to bring their Queen to her chambers. From there, Astraea returned to her own, and wasted no moment in lighting a fire.
She had to know Valencia's fate; she had to.
She sat in front of the flames, resting on her knees, watching as the logs caught fire and began to burn.
She watched the calm curve of flames atop the blackened coals that shimmered with an orange glow. The heat radiating from the flames and blowing against Astraea's cheeks.
For some time, the flames brought her no news, or explanation, or hope...until...
The picture danced and Astraea's eyes glazed over.
She could see Valencia.
She stood in the halls of Winterfell, in front of a large hearth, warming her hands. She was as tall and slim as ever, her hands outstretched, warming herself up. Her hair curled at her waist, waves of thick, ebony hair dangling freely. For some time she stood alone, her eyes watching the flames and her body still, until...a hand shot out. Astraea watched as a man's hand cupped Valencia's, his bare hands holding onto hers. He raised them to his lips and blew into them, generating a kind warmth in Valencia's palms, the Queen blushed and curled herself against the man. The man with hair as dark as night, and eyes as grey as the stormy sky.
Who was he?
But another important fate had been revealed, Valencia would live. It was her destiny to live.
~~~
VALENCIA'S P.O.V
HER EYES HAD TURNED TO BLACKENED COALS. She could feel the softness of the wind, the scent of the ocean breeze, and she could hear the faintest sounds of chatter outside her windows. Valencia stood in a room, all to familiar, but long forgotten.
Her eyes felt like lead, struggling to open as her wheezing breaths filled the air. But soon, the wheezing dimmed and her eyes heaviness diminished, allowing her to awaken.
But she was no longer in Storm's End, but instead, in Kings Landing.
Valencia took a small turn, and nearly gasped at the sight.
She resided in her old chambers, a circular room with a large canopy bed, a wall of arch windows and doorways bringing forth the beautiful circular balcony that faced the great sea of blue. The chill of the sea breeze brought a calmness to her that swept away the curiosity of how she was in Kings Landing.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled the sweet scent, and looked out into the vastness of blue. Finding a calmness sweep over her, a strange glow overlapping her vision that cleansed her with happiness and purity. For so long she stood like this, looking out or closing her eyes, entrapping herself with happiness.
Until a knock sounded at the door.
Turning on her heel, Valencia spoke. "Come in."
The door opened slowly with a slight creak, Valencia wondered who had come for her.
A small hand curled around the door, and within seconds a sweep of light, dark blue fabric slinked inside. The fabric belonged a beautiful woman, with lightly sun-kissed skin, pouty lips, and magnificent bone structure. She looked older than Valencia, but not by much. She wore a long, light blue pleated under-dress that swept onto the floor along with an off-shoulder poncho that was blue and star-shaped. The poncho itself was decorated with bright embroidery in the shapes of flowers and the sun, along her sleeves and neckline was intricate, silver, circular patterns. Her dark hair was left in long, dark, tight curls that framed her face beautifully.
Her choice of fashion was clearly strange, yet beautiful at the same time. If anything she looked quite old-fashioned and odd, but in a good way.
"Who are you?" Valencia asked queerly.
The unknown woman smiled a beautiful grin at her, her aura lighting up immediately. "I was sent by your father, Your Grace," she spoke softly.
Valencia felt an unknown stir in her heart at the strange woman, there was something so familiar about her, but Valencia did not know why. "Why did he send you here?"
The woman's smile faded, a look of sadness pressing to her beautiful features. She said nothing, but instead took small steps to Valencia. The Queen had not noticed how short she was, or the plain fact that her eyes were...a deep, dark purple.
"He asked me to bring you to the Great Hall," she spoke, raising a hand and gently touching Valencia's cheek. "He wishes to see you."
Frowning, Valencia nodded anyways and began to follow the strange woman out the door and down the halls of the Red Keep. For a strange reason, everything felt fake and as if it was an illusion. Nothing seemed real.
"Do you know why my father wants to see me?" Valencia inquired, raising her thick brows.
The dark-haired woman shook her head. "No, he just asked me to retrieve you."
Valencia said no more and continued on her way, and soon enough, she burst through the large wooden doors of the Great Hall.
The room looked different. No longer did it hold the fine floral design the Targaryens had created, but instead around the columns were sharp steel braziers that were ablaze with warm, fiery glow.
Then, at the end of the hall, she saw it. Her birthright, her legacy, her ultimate goal; the Iron Throne. It looked as majestic as it usually did, and it seemed to glow with strength and intimidation. The flames reflected off the melted iron, shimmering with the brutality of over a hundred Kings.
One day, she promised herself, I will sit on that throne.
"Valencia?"
Not noticing that her father was at the other end of the hall, his voice startled her. But she didn't jump, and her heart didn't seize, for somehow, she felt a great sadness over her.
Wait...
Memories kissed Valencia hard, from her time in Winterfell, to her marriage to Robb Stark, the death of her father, and the death of her uncle. How could she have forgotten such things? But none of it mattered, for her father stood right in front of her, in al his burliness.
"Father?" Her voice called, timid and quiet, it echoed across the hall.
Before she could resist, she was throwing herself across the hall and into her father's arms.
Whenever she would hug him, she felt safe, and all her worries disappeared like the sun when it went behind the clouds. In these moments, she was completely cocooned in his large, strong arms that wrapped around her frail body, it made her think she was a child once more. The world melted away, and her quarrels no longer mattered, for she had her father back.
But it made her question whether or not her entire time in Winterfell was real or not, of if this was a dream? If it was, she longed to never wake up from it.
"My child," her father's thick voice began. He pulled back, one of his hands holding her shoulder while his other raised and tenderly stroked back her dark hair. "Look at you, a year I have been gone and already you have become more of a woman." Valencia laughed lightly, looking into his bright blue eyes.
Without warning, he pulled her back in for another hug, burying her face into his neck. For some time they remained like this, wrapped up together in a hug of pure family love.
"Father?" She hummed into his neck, Robert slowly pulled back, just as tears began to travel down Valencia's face. "Do you know...what has become of you?"
She watched his eyes drop, and his smile fade. He knew he was dead.
"Yes, my child," he stroked her hair once more. "I know."
Valencia let out a strangled sob. "I wish you didn't go, I wish you didn't leave me alone in this world," tears ran down her warm cheeks. "Why did you have to die?"
Robert looked down at her in sorrow. "I know, my little doe, I know. I know the pain you are going through, maybe more than you want to believe. But everything happens for a reason, and my death was for a reason."
"And what reason is that?"
"So that you will become the woman the Gods needed you to be."
Valencia's face fell. More than once she had heard the 'Gods plan' for her, and many times it made no sense. "I don't understand this stupid plan they have for me, nor do I care." She hugged her father once again, "I just wish to stay with you."
Robert squeezed her back momentarily before pulling back. "Your time has not come yet, my daughter."
"What?"
Robert sighed yet again, his voice beginning to tremble. "I cannot tell you everything there is to know, they will not allow me. But I have allowed myself this bittersweet taste of longing." He cupped Valencia's cheek. "You are dying, my child. But the Gods will not allow you to slip from their grasp."
It was like a punch to the gut. Dying? She was dying? How could this be, what happened to her?
What had she...
The prisoner.
A sharp pain slapped Valencia in the side of the head, mental images of the prisoner with his vulgar comments that angered her so much, she stepped down from her throne to sneer at him. She remembered how he stabbed her, with her own blade, a sick irony.
The pain subsided from her head, but slithered down like an angered snake and ripped right through her chest. This time, Valencia could not hold back her wince.
Flying a hand to her chest, Valencia seethed through her teeth, trying to hold back her clear pain. Her eyes became heavy once more and the strength in her legs disappeared, she fell forward but did not hit the ground. She fell into the arms of her father, the large man holding her up.
Tears began to fall uncontrollably down her face, her hands clutching her father's shoulder for support, her own throat strangled with sobs. She could not make herself speak, she could barely gather her own thoughts.
She was dying.
In this moment, she found herself of death. She did not want to dive into the blackened abyss of death, and allow its cold hands to hold her captive.
"Hush, little doe. You will not die," Robert cooed stroking the curve of the skull. "You're time has not come."
Valencia forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, and restrain her tears long enough for her to speak. "I will, I will," she cried. "I've...I've done terrible things."
She heard Robert sigh again, and he quietly muttered. "We all have."
Valenica sobbed once more.
"Robert?" A soft voice spoke. Valencia pulled from her father, spinning to see the same woman as before standing roughly a meter away from them, her thick brows drawn into a concerned look. "Valencia, are you alright?" She asked, taking a step closer.
"Leave me be," Valencia sneered at the woman, huddling herself into her father's arm.
"Valencia," her father warned, looking between her and the woman.
The woman swallowed thickly and took another step forward. "They want me to tell you something," she began, "to make more sense on what you were born to do." Valencia frowned, her words only seemed to confuse her even more. "You will know, that your time has come when the sea is aflame, the sky turns to ash, and the stones slither like snakes. Then and only then, will you know what to do."
Valencia looked upon the woman's gentle face with thick, drawn eyebrows. "That does not make any sense!"
"It will...it will."
A loud booming sound came from above Valencia, her eyes widening as she looked upwards. She saw something dark crawl over the Great Hall's roof. Suddenly, screaming was heard, and the roar of flames. What was happening?
Then, the walls began to crumble and sink, taking herself with it, along with her father and the mysterious woman. Then, Kings Landing faded from her mind, her father disappeared like smoke, and the woman sunk into the floor. Then, Valencia's eyes, closed and she was welcomed with darkness.
~~~
ROBB'S P.O.V
ROBB STOOD IN THE COMMAND TENT WITH HIS FOLLOW LORDS AND LADY'S. Dressed tall in his armour, his crown nestled atop his auburn hair, and his beard growing thick against her fair skin and handsome face. His mother stood beside him, unusually quiet while they all discussed the plans for Oxcross. There was word that Ser Stefford Lannister had a force at the small town, and after Robb had sent out a few scouts to canvas what exactly he was doing. When the report came back that he indeed had a small training camp, and was to naive to not set up sentries, it was clear where the next plan of attack was going to be. The only thing that the Lords of the North had to agree on was a plan.
"No!" Roared Lord Umber. "We will go North of the camp! Not East!"
"If we go East we won't be spotted!" Snapped Lord Karstark. "East is the way to go!"
"You're just saying that so you'll lead the vanguard!"
"Aye! And I'll do it better than you!"
For hours the arguing went on like this. Most of the time Robb was able to calm them down, but for some reason, no one was acting like themselves. He began to wonder what had changed their behaviour so dramatically?
He thought it might have been the storm that had blown across the sky a few days ago.
"My Lords," Robb spoke, looking at all of them. "Yelling, and screaming about our strategy is not bringing us any closer to a decision."
They quieted down for a moment, until Lord Bolton spoke up. "What do you suggest, my King?"
Robb inhaled sharply, looking down at the map. "I am not sure as of yet."
"We should wait until the Queen returns home," Lord Glover announced. "She would know what to do."
"And where is she? Playing a fools game down South!" Bellowed Lord Karstark. "Last I heard of her, she was gallivanting with Renly's head on her shoulders. Soon she'll be doing the same to you, Your Grace. Never trust a Southerner!"
Nearly no one yelled in agreement with Lord Karstark, for many of the Northern Lords still liked Valencia, but suspicions had been raised. From the moment that they received word of Renly's death, and the mysterious circumstances it was under, many had whispered of Valencia's involvement. For all knew of her desire for the Iron Throne.
As for Lord Karstark's accusations of her harming Robb, it had crossed his mind. Since he had been crowned King, she had been distant and cold towards him, usually just using him for his physical presence. But they did not talk as they once had, nor had they been as loving as they had been. It was if the love had been yanked from her, and burnt to the ground. Robb hated to think that she was just mad that he had not been with her as much, but he knew she was undoubtedly in rage that the North would no longer be part of the Seven Kingdoms.
But nevertheless, he still loved Valencia, in his own way. But recently, his mind had been elsewhere.
A woman had been spotted in his camp, tending to the sick and injured. He had spoken to her numerous times, Talisa her name was from Volantis. She was undoubtedly beautiful, a certain type of beauty none would see in Westeros very much. Although Robb restrained, he could not help but feel the attraction she supplied him with, though he never acted on those feelings. He would not do as his father had.
"Do not accuse her of something she had no part in," Robb sighed. "Valencia is doing everything she can to build up our forces, and bring us more lands so that when the time comes, Kings Landing will be surrounded on all fronts."
Lord Karstark said no more after that.
Silence had swept into the tent, swallowing everyone whole. Until, Lilith burst through the flaps of the tents, her eyes wide and bloodshot, her bottom lip trembling and her face a deep scarlet. In her hands as a piece of parchment, the broken sigil of House Baratheon stamped in red ink. Already, Robb feared the words written on that letter.
"I - I am sorry for the intrusion," she gulped in air, her posture shaking. "But...I wish to speak with you, alone, Your Grace." It was clear that she was forcing the words out, as if it pained her to speak. It only made the anxiety within Robb grow more and more violent.
Quickly, he dismissed everyone, including his mother until it was just Lilith and himself. He approached her with a wide gaze, looking between her face and the parchment between her fingertips. "What has happened?"
Lilith visibly began to shake, tears pooling in her eyes. "I-I cannot...I must not...read it." She handed the parchment to him and took a seat at the table, cupping her mouth as she began to withhold sobs.
Worrisome, Robb looked to the parchment, fearing its dark words. His worst fears were coming alive.
Ever so carefully, he began to unravel the parchment, seeing the black ink sprawled across the parchment.
To Lilith, friend of the Queen,
These words are not easy to say, nor write, but you must know. A week ago, a battle had occurred at Storm's End between our Queen Valencia of the House Baratheon, and the usurper, Stannis of the House Baratheon. The battled for several hours outside their ancestral seat, and in the last hour, Stannis retreated his forces allowing the victory to go to Valencia. In her victory, Valencia allowed those alive on the field from both her armies to be given medical attention, and her prisoners were allowed to see her to decide their fates.
She was most merciful towards them, allowing them to fight for her, return to their homes, or refuse both and die. Many choose the first two options, and she allowed them to go home freely without any charge or promised revenge. But, in the ends of her last prisoners, a man named Elios insulted the Queen with vulgar comments, including the request of bedding her. Insulted by is request, Valencia climbed from her throne and approached and threatened him. He merely took this as a joke, and in the heat of the moment, took her blade and proceeded to stab her three times in her chest.
I am sorry these words must come by raven, and not in person. But Valencia has not awoken since her attack, and the maester does not believe she shall live for very much longer, her life is failing. Please inform our King of this, he of all people should hear it from the mouth instead of the words. Tell him I am sorry that I failed to protect his Queen, and that my own sorrow shall follow me to the grave.
Regards, Dacey of the House Mormont.
A shaky breath blew into the cold air. Escaping from Robb's lips, his mind became crushed with the overbearing feeling of hollowness. He had grieved for his father, for the situation of his sisters. But this time, it felt different. It felt as hollow as the first, and as wrenching as the second and third. But it was something else entirely. He would never see his father again, he doubted the same with Arya and Sansa, but their time together had been so very long...but with Valencia. It was so incredibly short.
The emptiness of his heart began as he let the parchment flow onto the command table. The numbness of his mind began to pound, and his eyes began to sting as he looked upon Lilith who was drowning her sorrows in a large goblet of wine.
They said nothing, but even still, Robb could see the faltering of her character and the strength she had to hide her emotions began to crumble. Just as his were.
The sickening hollowness threatened to take him, engulf his mind, body, and soul into one giant twist of inhumanity. It felt as if he was losing himself.
He hated to believe that she was gone, taken from him before he could ever tell her how much he truly did love her. Before they could live their lives together, before they could reconnect under a banner of love, before they could bring a child into this world. He always dreamed of having a child with her, but now, that hope was all but lost.
He began to blame himself for the matter of her worrisome quarrels, if only he had not let her go to the Stormlands, if only he had not been so inattentive to her. If only he had loved her more.
Robb doubted he could ever forgive himself for loss of life he had caused.
"She deserved better," Lilith growled out after what seemed like hours of sorrowful drinking on both parts. Robb could feel the tingles of the wine stimulate his senses. "Killed by her own blade, it is cruel."
Robb nodded in agreement, taking a large gulp of wine, swallowing thickly. "I should have never let her go down there," he murmured, staring into the abyss of alcohol. "Perhaps...perhaps none of this would have ever happened."
He saw in the corner of his eye as Lilith turned her head to him, her crown of dark hair running over her shoulder. "Don't blame yourself," she spoke, "it was her own ambition that did this. She rose to high."
"But I do blame myself," he admitted. "Even before she left, we were...distant. At times, I believed she would want nothing more than me dead. And still, I loved her more than anyone...more than life." He took a large gulp of wine, feeling the numbness dull his senses.
He looked up to Lilith's dark eyes, seeing them narrow into slits. "It's too bad your love for her could not bring her back."
Without another word, or another growl of hatred, Lilith rose to her feet and stormed out of the tent. Leaving Robb all alone. Until...another came to him.
The scent of blackberries and blood entered the room, a scent so sweet yet queer that it churned Robb's drunken mind. For he knew who had come to see him, Talisa.
"Your Grace?" Her sweet, accented voice spoke. "Are you alright?"
With dazed and angered eyes, Robb faced her. "My wife is dead," he sneered, "how well can I be?"
Talisa seemed to freeze at his coldness, her wide brown eyes becoming the size of the moon. "I am sorry, it was a stupid question," she apologised bowing her head. "I'm sorry for your grief, Your Grace. From what I heard, your wife was a compassionate woman."
Robb nodded, turning back to his drink. "Aye, she was."
A moment of silence passed between the two, until after some time Talisa spoke up. "Do you want to talk about her?"
Robb's heart pounded in his chest, his mind becoming hazy and his eyes heavy. "No," he mumbled, "I do not." He poured himself more wine, grabbing another cup and filling it and placing it next to him. He did not want to be alone right now, he needed at least some comfort.
Talisa did not hesitate and sitting beside him, her small hands wrapping around the goblet with a delicacy he was not accustomed to. Whenever Valencia would drink she'd grab the goblet roughly and drink as fast as she could. He was always aware of her love for wine, and how Pentoshi was her favourite.
It pained him to think of her, the last thing he wanted was the memories of a time when they were truly in love. "Talk about something," he forced out, "anything."
Startled, Talisa froze for a moment, but soon enough began her story. "Did you know, that I was raised to be a proper little Lady. To play the harp, and dance the latest steps, and recite Valyrian poetry."
Robb chuckled. "I'd like to hear you play poetry."
Talisa laughed, sipping on her wine. "No. No, you would not."
Robb took a long gulp of his wine, and turned to her. "How did you go from reciting Valyrian poetry, to sawing off men's feet?"
Her face seemed to drop slightly. "When I was 12, my mother and father went to a wedding. Weddings in Volantis last for days, you know. And they left me with my little brother. The second afternoon they were gone, was the hottest day in the three-year summer. We couldn't bear to be inside, so we ran down to the Rhoyne. Every child in Volantis was in the Rhoyne that day," she smiled fondly at the memory. "The rich, the poor, we were all there. Naked, screaming, racing to the little islands. Drummers were playing for coppers on the east bank. I was treading in the water, talking to a friend, when I realised I hadn't seem my brother. I called his name. Then I started screaming his name. And then, I saw him floating face down." She paused for the briefest moment.
"My heart just...stopped. I was...I dragged him from the water, my friend helped me, I think. I don't even remember...he was so little. Then, we pulled him onto the riverbank, and I screamed at him, and I shook him...and he was dead. Just dead. A man ran over, he had fish tattoo on his face. In Volatnis, the slaves have tattoos, so you know what they are without having to talk to them. This man worked on a fishing boat. He pushed me out of the way, you have the understand, for a slave to push a highborn girl, that's death for the man, a terrible death. But he pushed me out of the way, and he started...pressing on my brother's chest, again, and again, and again until my brother spat out half of the Rhoyne and cried out. And the man cradled his head and told him to be calm." Talisa took a small breath, holding her wine close to her chest as Robb continuously drank from his.
"I decided two things that day," she announced. "I would not waste my years planning dances and masquerades with the other noble ladies. And when I came of age, I would never live in a slave city again."
For a kind moment of bliss, Robb did not think about his grieving heart, or the war he was engulfed in. He forgot the his enemies wanted him dead, or the promise he made to Walder Frey. He forgot about it all, relying on his own sex drive and the wine in his belly.
He rose to his feet, as did Talisa, her eyes wide. "I don't want to be alone this night," he gulped seeing the beauty in her intelligence and maturity.
Her eyes grew wider, and she nodded. "I do not wish you to be alone."
And that was all she had to say to return the same attraction that he felt towards her. And in a moment of drunken emotional weakness, Robb crashed his lips onto hers, running his hands over her body as the two engaged into intimacy that Robb had only ever experienced with Valencia.
If only he knew, that on this night, his wife would awaken from her deepen slumber, with only hellfire in her veins.
A/N
This is probably the shittest chapter I have ever written, and I am so sorry, but I've had little time on my hands and I had to quickly write this. I promise it will get better and I am sorry for the late update.