Chapter Text
Sleep came in fits. The soft hum of the camp, even in the dead of night, was too noisy for me to sleep deeply. The tent I’d been provided was not the most comfortable, gracious as the gesture was. It was small, the ground was hard, and the worn bedroll did little to keep out the cold damp that crept in during the night. At some point Nyx slipped through the flap and curled beside me, her warmth a mercy I held onto until a faint rustling pulled me from my dozing.
The wind pushed at the tent wall, lifting the flap just enough for a strip of gray light to spill across the ground. Through the gap I could see the camp already stirring. The sounds, though soft in the early light, jarred my senses and reminded me of what little sleep I had gotten. The birdsong and gentle breezes of the Mountains felt very far away.
Loath as I was to leave the warmth Nyx provided, I knew I needed to get moving if I meant to leave this camp. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up slowly, a yawn stretching my mouth. The motion made me hiss and touch my face gently. My left cheek was tender and swollen and I was certain the skin was already bruising. A headache throbbed behind my eyes from the headbutt, and my lip had split again in the night, a thin crust of blood marking the corner. I stretched, cataloging every ache. It was not the worst I had taken, but enough to remind me to keep my head down and move quickly until I was free of this place.
Nyx stretched and groaned beside me, claws catching in the bedroll. She moved toward the entrance and slipped through the flap. Through the bond I felt her intent. Hungry. Knowing her, she would head toward the forest to hunt her breakfast. Be quick, I sent. She chuffed in acknowledgment and padded into the treeline.
I pulled on my cloak and gathered what little I had. Outside, the sounds of morning grew louder: men calling orders, the clang of hammers, the smell of food cooking on an open fire. The rhythm of a camp coming to life.
As I packed, I planned. Fairmarket would be my first stop. The town wasn’t far, and it had been my destination before I stumbled into this mess. I hadn’t hunted as I’d planned near Oldstones, but I still had a few decent pelts from the Mountains to trade. If I took the northern trail, I could find decent game and stock up on herbs along the eastern point of the Pendric Hills before heading east toward Fairmarket.
Once I had traded for enough coin to replace my worn gear, I would move north toward the Neck. I hoped the forest to the east of the giant marsh was far enough north to hide me from the war, but south enough to survive the harsh cold. Disappearing into the trees again sounded like salvation. I had begun to wonder why I had ever left the peaks of the Mountains at all.
Because you were restless, I reminded myself.
The journey back east would be dangerous, especially with Tywin and his men on the move. The King’s Road would have to be avoided, which would make the journey twice as long but safer. If I kept to the back roads and forests, I might make it unseen.
When I’d finished packing, I pushed the flap aside and stepped into the dewy morning. The light, though still carrying the gray of dawn, was beginning to sharpen. Mist rolled low across the camp, and rows of tents faded into it like ghosts. A few men glanced my way, then back to their work. Good. The less notice, the better.
I knelt to lace my boots, scanning the camp to determine the smoothest path toward the horse lines where Luck would be tethered. When the laces were secured, I slid the knives back into my boots and straightened to tuck the rest of my steel away.
My eyes drifted toward the command tent, noting the lack of movement. Perhaps the king was still asleep. My gaze shifted left toward the Lannister in his cage. Jaime’s still frame was slumped in the mud and I wondered how he managed to sleep in those conditions. If my rest had been poor, his could only be worse.
I was fixing the small needle-like blade back into my hair when a voice behind me broke me out of my thoughts.
“You’re up early.”
Visibly startled, I turned. Robb Stark stood a few paces away, cloak thrown loosely about his shoulders, his curly auburn hair wild from either sleep or habit. He looked tired, dark circles beneath his eyes, as though he had not slept at all.
Catching my reaction, Robb smirked.
Gods, that smirk could get under a person’s skin. I could not tell yet if it was in a good way or bad.
“And you are light on your feet, Your Grace,” I said.
“Please call me Robb,” he answered, the hint of a smile still there. “I thought you might still be resting.”
I eyed him warily, unsure how to take his request. “I am a light sleeper.”
His gaze lingered on me, taking in my appearance. I must have looked as good as I felt, because his expression softened with a touch of remorse. His eyes shifted to the packed satchel at my feet. “Leaving so soon?”
“I have a long journey ahead. Plus, we agreed, remember? One night.”
He studied me a moment longer. “You never gave me your name yesterday.”
“You never asked for it.”
He waited, expecting more, but when I kept silent, he let out an exasperated sigh. “You seem to have a way with avoiding questions.”
With a sigh of my own, I bent to pick up my satchel and settled it on my shoulder. As I knelt, the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Yes, a skill that has kept me alive.”
His expression changed, amusement fading into something more serious. He must have heard the unease in my voice. His gaze held mine, and his next words were not what I expected.
“You should eat before you go,” he said after a moment. “The cooks will have something hot this morning. Bacon, if the gods are kind.” He hesitated, then added, “My council also wants to speak with you again.”
That set my teeth on edge. “I already told you and your men everything I know.”
“Even so, there are some things we need clarified.”
I smiled through gritted teeth, which tugged at my split lip. I winced, touching it with my fingers. Great, it split again.
“As you command, Your Grace. If it gets me fed, all the better.”
His glance told me he caught the title and did not miss the edge beneath it.
“It’s settled then.” He turned toward the heart of the camp. “This way.”
I adjusted the pack on my shoulder and followed. I searched for Nyx through the bond and felt the echoes of her mind. She had just finished with the rabbit she had caught and was cleaning the blood from her cheeks. I pushed my unease through the bond and she snapped to attention. Coming. She sent back, and began making her way toward camp.
The fog continued to drift through camp, lending everything an eerie stillness. I could not help but feel the air itself was warning me about the day to come.
———————— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆₊⁺⋆ ————————
Robb led the way through camp. I expected him to guide me toward the command tent, but he stopped at one of the larger fires where soldiers sat with tin plates and steaming mugs.
He took a seat on an overturned crate as a soldier handed him breakfast. Noticing my hesitation, he gestured to the open space across from him.
“Sit,” he said. “Best to eat before facing my lords.”
I blinked, surprised. I had thought a king would dine apart in some private grandiose tent, draped with soft furs and surrounded by guards. Instead, he sat shoulder to shoulder with the same men who dug trenches and sharpened spears. Their laughter was rough but honest, the kind that comes from men too tired to care about titles.
One of the soldiers passed me a plate without a word. The smell of bacon and porridge hit my nose, and my stomach betrayed me with a quiet growl.
Robb heard it and smiled. “Seems I was right.”
I settled across from him and dug into my food. The porridge was warm and sweet, the bacon salty and crisp. It had been longer than I could remember since I had tasted anything besides bland, stringy meat or foraged berries and nuts. Last night had been a beef and vegetable stew, and this morning, sugar and bacon. They were eating well here.
I tried not to scarf it down, wanting to savor the flavor and show a scrap of etiquette. When I finished, I leaned back and patted my stomach with a small smile. “If you wanted me to talk this early in the morning, feeding me first was a wise plan, and bacon makes me downright agreeable.” I hummed. “I might even say your bacon rivals the Vale’s.”
He laughed, low and genuine. “I will be sure to tell the cooks you approve. I hope the council has eaten as well. They are easier to deal with when they are not hungry.”
His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long. It unnerved me. There was something almost soft in it, as though the sight of me content made him happy. I pretended not to notice and rose when he did.
“Now,” he said, brushing dirt from his cloak, “come. Let’s see if my men are as agreeable as you this morning.”
He turned toward the command tent, wide and dark ahead, its canvas walls flapping in the wind. His direwolf lay near the entrance. His coat was a beautiful blend of gray and silver. As we approached, his head lifted, eyes narrowing with an intelligence that made my skin prickle.
Through the bond I felt the sharp edge of Nyx’s unease. She had emerged from the treeline and was making her way back to me through the camp. When she slipped to my side, I scratched behind her ear to soothe her. “Easy, girl,” I murmured.
The direwolf’s yellow eyes tracked us. His body was still, but the air around him felt taut. There was a keenness in his gaze that reminded me of Nyx. I wondered if he and Robb shared what she and I did.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
Robb followed my line of sight and arched a brow. “Is this where I avoid the question with silence, or change the subject?” The gleam of humor in his eyes made my mouth twitch.
Playing along, I tapped my chin in mock thought. “That depends on who is asking. Although silence is efficient, it tends to frustrate people.”
We both chuckled.
“Grey Wind,” he said after a beat.
“Aptly named,” I hummed.
We were close enough now to see the Lannister in his cage, still asleep and slumped in the mud. Even from here I could see the sweat on his skin and the labored rhythm of his breathing. In the bright morning light, his features were clearer than they had been in the dark: cuts lined his face, some half-healed, others raw. The grime caked into them would fester soon if left as they were. For a moment I wondered if Robb knew, or if he cared at all. My smile faded at the thought.
We stepped inside the tent and my easy mood from the warmth of a full belly and surprisingly pleasant conversation cooled at the sight of the table. It looked unchanged from the night before, maps and parchment buried in heaps. The men were much the same as well, with only a few new faces among them. The Greatjon’s booming laugh cut through the talk as he clapped a younger lord on the shoulder. The Blackfish stood near the far edge, quiet and watchful.
Robb moved to the head of the table, and the chatter died.
“Reports,” he said.
“We have word from the scouts,” a lord began, worry in his voice. “Still no sign or message from Bolton’s host. The Freys swear they have not seen his banners since the crossing.”
“The Green Fork was a fortnight ago,” the Blackfish said. “If Bolton has not sent word, he is either delayed or has gone to ground.”
“Delayed by what?” the Greatjon barked. “The man marches to the Twins and forgets how to send a rider? Or a raven at least?”
Robb’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His eyes went to me. “Tell them again what you saw.”
Every gaze swung my way.
“The field could not have been much more than thirty leagues south of the Twins,” I said after a breath. “By the time I reached it, the fighting was over. It had been for at least three days. The bodies had started to bloat. The dead lined the riverbank to the trees. Too many to count. At the time I could not tell which side had lost more, but thinking on it now, and seeing which houses ride for you, I would say the losses fell heavier on your side. Though, there were plenty of Lannister dead as well. Your men fought hard.”
A few men grunted in approval.
I kept my tone steady and gave what detail I could. “I cannot say with certainty, but I found two sets of tracks, one leading north and one south. The northern trail belonged to a smaller host, mostly on foot, with a few horses and fewer carts. I would guess that was your Lord Bolton. The southern trail ran along the river. Lannisters, most likely. The prints were too wide and layered to count. With the Green Fork to their left, the Mountains to the right, and the northern crossing closed to them, south would have been their only path. Probably back to the Ruby Ford for a southern crossing.”
“Makes sense,” the Greatjon said. “The old lion will want to march west to rescue his precious cub.” A hum of agreement followed, with a few stifled chuckles.
After a beat, a Tully man asked, “What brought you to the battlefield?”
“I was making my way toward Oldstones,” I said. “Ruins or not, the game and wild herbs there are worth the walk. Once I had stocked up, I meant to trade in Fairmarket. I was coming down from the Mountains of the Moon and planning to cross the Green Fork when I found the aftermath and your dying captain.”
“Ah, yes. The captain’s message,” a young lord spoke up, his tone dripping with condescension. He looked about Robb’s age and wore a black kraken on his armor. I wondered what an Iron Islander was doing among this lot. “You are certain the man was ours?”
I did not like his tone. Keeping my face blank and voice flat, I answered, “He wore a direwolf on his chest and carried a Stark’s captain’s seal. I would assume that is enough indication he was a Stark man.”
The man glared. I held his stare and let a bit of my frustration seep into my words. “Listen, the man caught me off guard. I was wading through carnage toward the bank when I heard him. He was not alive long enough for me to interrogate him to prove he was not a Lannister spy. The exchange lasted minutes. His ribs were crushed and his pain was beyond measure. I am sorry I did not take the time, while he was dying, to ask for his name, rank, identification papers–”
The Blackfish cut off my rising temper with a palm. “Aye, time was not on your side. Let us return to what matters. His message. What were his words, exactly?”
With a huff, I repeated what I had told them the night before.
“When I found him, he told me the realm needed me and to ride to Riverrun to deliver a message to the King. He said, ‘Tell him what happened here. Tell him Tywin knows. He knows where the King is and why. Tell him Bolton’s gone north, and not to trust him. Tell him, or all is lost. Take the seal so he knows the words are true.’”
“Those were his words exactly?”
“Yes.” I said. “Then–,” I hesitated.
“Then…?” the Blackfish prompted.
“I had hoped to spare him the shame, but there was more than just pain in his voice. He was guilt-ridden. At the end, he said, ‘Tell him I’m sorry. We held as long as we could, but Tywin won. He won and I broke.’ Then his last words were, ‘The North remembers.’ I think Tywin knew where you were and why because your man broke under torture.”
Surprised and angry voices rose, then died when someone asked what I had seen on the road from the field to Riverrun.
“Little,” I said. “I took back roads and kept to the trees. When I had to move in the open I only saw overturned carts and burned farmhouses. I did come across a small patrol near Pennytree, but they did not see me. I do not know who they rode for. They carried no banners, but they were too organized to be anything but a patrol.”
My answers were as detailed as I could make them, but still they did not satisfy. Questions came faster and sharper. Why had I traveled alone? How had I crossed the rivers unseen? What proof did I have of the man’s claim?
Their suspicion gathered like storm clouds. Voices rose and began to overlap until they were a low roar. The volume did nothing for my temper; my head still pounded from the morning. I tried to answer evenly, but the boiling point came when one man snapped, “You expect us to believe you wandered into our war by chance?”
“I do not expect anything from you,” I said loudly and sharply, my voice rising for the first time.
Silence followed.
Robb had been quiet until then. He spoke at last, calm but carrying weight. “That is enough.”
He looked back to me. “You know these lands then? The woods, rivers, and crossings?”
“We are a little farther west than I am used to,” I said, “but I know the land well enough.”
“And you have no love for the Lannisters?”
I met his eyes. “What does that matter to you?”
An uneasy murmur rippled and died when Robb’s gaze swept the table.
“I ask because I could use eyes that know the land,” he said. “Scouts who can move quickly and quietly. Who can warn us of Tywin’s movements. Good scouts are hard to come by, especially ones who will not sway to Lannister gold.” His men nodded along.
So that was it. This was not about clarification. It was a test. A measure of my skills. A recruitment. My throat tightened. My chances of leaving were shrinking before my eyes.
“Your Grace,” I said, softening my tone, “I have no wish to join this war. I have seen enough death for a lifetime. I am not seeking more of it.”
“You came to my camp with a soldier’s message,” he replied. “You have already joined it.”
My patience thinned. “I was honor bound,” I bit out, “and I have stayed against my will.”
The tent seemed to still. Even the braziers dimmed.
Robb straightened, his eyes steady. “You will remain in this camp until I can verify your story and your loyalties. For everyone’s safety.”
Heat climbed my neck. Though my blood pumped hot as dragon flame, my voice was cold. “I have always heard stories of the honorable lords of Winterfell. How they held to their honor even when the world called it folly. I admired them for it. If I had known that honor meant keeping a woman prisoner after she risked her life to cross a war-torn Riverlands to carry a dying man’s words, all to assuage his last wish to restore his honor to his liege lord, I would have put him out of his misery before the first word left his lips.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Robb’s face betrayed nothing, but the tension around the table tightened like a noose.
Although I had not been dismissed, I turned to go, but the guards at the entrance crossed their spears, blocking my path.
Outside, picking up on the tension, Nyx gave a low warning growl. Grey Wind answered with a growl of his own, a deep rumble that vibrated in my chest.
I glanced over my shoulder and fixed Robb with a glare. “Have your men lower their weapons.” The “before I make them” went unsaid but was plain in my tone. “I have nothing more to say. I have told you all I know, and I am going back to my tent. Or will you set a cage beside the Lannister’s for me? Should I expect shackles and a collar as well?”
His eyes flickered with heat, but after a moment he nodded, and the guards lowered their spears.
I slipped out into the now fully awake camp. Movement to my left caught my eye. Jaime Lannister watched me. Truly, the songs did him justice. Even under grime and festering cuts, his cheekbones were high, his jaw sharp, and his eyes the color of moss. The sweat I had noticed before the meeting still clung to him, and his breath came in short pants.
When our eyes met, I expected a smirk or a cutting quip. Instead, his expression was distant, almost somber.
I stormed past in silence, Nyx trailing close behind, tail flicking in agitation.
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It did not escape my notice that a soldier followed me out as I left the tent. Frustrated by the further invasion of privacy, I trudged toward my tent, weighing my next steps. The sun sat higher now and the morning fog had burned away. I scanned the horse lines for Luck. There could not be many one-eared mounts in this camp.
Lost in thought, I nearly walked into the woman who stepped into my path. Her auburn hair was braided tight, her clothes plain but well kept. Stern blue eyes met mine, cool and measuring. The same eyes I had just left in the command tent. There was only one person she could be, and like her son, her reputation preceded her.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Is it?” I asked, more gruffly than I intended.
My tone seemed to catch her off guard, though it should not have. The set of my jaw and the stomp of my feet should have been indication enough that my temper was running hot.
“I am Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell,” she said.
“I know, my lady. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
I could tell she noted I didn’t offer my name in return.
“You are the woman who attacked our guards last night.”
“Attacked? No. Defended myself from? Yes.”
Her gaze moved to my bruised cheek and the dried blood at my mouth. “You were struck.” She seemed unused to seeing women like this, grime-coated and bruised, with no dress or sewing-needle in sight.
“Well spotted,” I quipped before I could stop myself.
Indignation flashed across her face. I sighed and reined it back. “My apologies, Lady Stark. My morning has not been kind. However, that is no reason to show you disrespect. Your guards and I had a misunderstanding that turned into a fight. I came to deliver a message to your son. They were doing their duty. Besides, you should see them. They came out worse than I did.” A small smirk slipped through.
She looked somewhat placated by my apology, perhaps even faintly amused. “You remind me of my daughter, Arya,” she said, then her expression sombered. “The guards are cautious for a reason. Caution has kept my son alive.”
There was no apology in it, no pride either. Only fact.
At the mention of her son, my scowl returned. I shifted to step past. “If you will—”
“I take it the council meeting is what has you in a fury,” she said.
“That is an understatement.”
“The men here can be hard to deal with at times, but they value candor.”
“I gave them the truth,” I said. “If it was not the truth they hoped for, that is not my fault.”
“Perhaps not.” Her gaze slid past me to the iron cage, where the Lannister sat with his head bowed. Hatred stirred in her eyes. “But with all that is at stake, even the smallest detail can mean life or death. You cannot begrudge them for exhausting every question.”
“Perhaps not,” I echoed. “But holding me hostage under the baseless pretense of being a spy when I came only to deliver a dying man’s words. You cannot fault me for begrudging them their methods.”
Her eyes returned to mine. For a heartbeat something moved there, a shadowed ache that raised the hairs on my arms. It felt like recognition pointed the wrong way, as if she were searching my face for someone who was not there. It was unsettling.
The moment passed and her polite smile returned as she inclined her head. “You speak plainly. I prefer that to pretty lies.”
“So do I.”
She stepped aside to let me pass. I had taken two paces when her voice halted me again.
“Whoever you are,” she said, her tone a quiet warning, “wherever you are from, know this. I will protect my son with my life. If you have come with other purposes, I will find them out.”
There was a knowing light in her eyes that I could not read.
“As you say, Lady Stark.” I said, continuing on my way.
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When I reached my tent, I dropped my pack with a huff and sat on a log beside the still-smoldering embers of last night’s fire. Not one for idle hands, I slid my knives from their hiding places and took a whetstone to each blade until the edges were sharp enough to cut parchment. I wondered if I would be able to reclaim the rest of my weapons from Luck. They needed tending too.
I had hoped the steady rhythm of honing steel would cool my frustration. I was wrong. An hour later my thoughts still burned, and I searched for another outlet. A worn practice dummy and a circular target made of straw stood a few yards away. I decided to test the blades’ new edges.
Nyx settled on her haunches, watching with slow blinks as I threw knife after knife into the target until my hands cramped, yet the fire in my chest would not fade. I switched to my dagger and went at the dummy, working the close grips and quick turns, the strikes meant for killing in tight quarters.
By midday the camp sweltered beneath a bright sun. Sweat dampened my collar, and my body trembled from exertion. I wiped my face and felt the quick race of my pulse. At least my mind was clearer now. Taking a long drink from my waterskin, I glanced toward my assigned guard leaning against a nearby tree.
Even in repose he was alert, one of those soldiers who only looked half-asleep. His gaze flicked to me every so often, though it drifted more often across the camp. Whether he watched for danger or out of sheer boredom, I could not tell.
Voices carried on the breeze, light and easy. The tone of one drew my attention before I even saw him. Robb stood a short distance off with what appeared to be a healer, a dark-haired woman with skilled hands, a pretty face, and a lilting foreign accent. They were laughing softly while she worked a bandage into place. Robb looked younger beside her, unburdened, as if command and war were far behind him.
My eyes burned at the sight, the tears sharp and unwanted. I did not cry often, but when I did, it was almost always out of anger, and I was furious now. Furious that he had time for easy conversation and charm, but could not spare a moment to think what keeping me here might mean for my life or my future. Angry that while I was kept under armed guard, he laughed freely and flirted with a pretty girl, as if the choices he made carried no weight at all. He should have been planning his next move, discerning his enemies’ paths, or finding a way to verify my story so I could finally be free.
He must have felt my gaze because before I could turn away, his eyes found mine. My chest still heaved from training. I must have looked a mess, bruised, sweaty, and red-faced. He was too far to read his expression, but his gaze lingered long enough to draw the healer’s notice. When she looked my way, I turned back to the dummy and resumed training with renewed force.
Each strike landed harder than the one before. Nyx’s ears flicked with every hit. Even after their laughter faded, I could still feel their eyes on me. By the time I found the nerve to look their way again, they were gone. Before me, the dummy hung in shreds. With a quiet sigh, I sheathed my dagger, the fight finally leaving me.
The day was slipping by, and if I meant to be gone by nightfall, I would need a plan.
I wiped the sweat from my face and glanced toward the guard still stationed where he had been since morning. My muscles ached, my hair clung to my neck, and the grime of travel still coated my skin. If I wanted to slip away, I would need a reason to leave my tent.
I approached the guard, trying to sound weary rather than calculating. “Is there somewhere I might wash? I can’t stand another hour coated in dirt and sweat.”
He frowned, uncertain. “I’ll have to ask the King.”
Of course he would. I gave a tired nod, letting him lead the way. What I asked for wasn’t just a bath. If I could get far enough from camp, I might be able to slip my guard and vanish into the trees where I belonged. Luck and most of my gear would have to be left behind, but freedom was worth the trade.
When we reached the command tent, the guard entered while I waited outside, unwilling to face the King again so soon. He returned a short while later, and to my disappointment, Robb followed him out.
“You’ve been granted permission,” the guard said carefully. “Five men will escort you.”
My stomach sank. Five. So much for an easy escape.
I looked at Robb as he came to stand beside the soldier. He must have mistaken my silence for hesitation, because he offered, “My men will see you safely there and back.” After a short pause, he added, “They’ll be gentlemen, but if you try anything, they have orders to use force.”
Fighting back a grimace, I kept my voice even. “Then I’ll try not to give them a reason.”
He studied me for a long moment, as if searching for something beneath my calm. Whatever he found, it wasn’t what he expected. With a quiet nod, he turned away.
Nyx padded to my side as the guards gathered, her green eyes bright. I brushed my fingers over her head and murmured, “Easy, girl.” The words and gesture were mindless, a comforting habit.
Then I followed them toward the river.
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The Red Fork of the Trident was the longest of its three branches. Its northern arm was how the fork earned its name. Red clay banks lined the stretch that surrounded Riverrun, turning the water a rusty red that resembled old blood. The smallfolk told an old wives’ tale that the river claimed those who stood against House Tully, dragging them down into its muddy bed, giving it its hue.
Thankfully, the path that wound through the sparse trees led to a narrow alcove where the river split into a shallow offshoot. The rocky bank kept the water a clear, cold blue. Pine and wet earth perfumed the air, and the trees offered enough cover to make the place feel secluded. I was grateful for it. There was little room for privacy in a war camp.
The men spread out, taking their posts. None looked directly at me, but I could feel their unease, the awkwardness of guarding a single woman who would soon be naked and bathing. They likely thought it excessive, though I hoped they hadn’t forgotten I’d bloodied three of their own, or that a shadowcat prowled at my side.
I stepped to the edge of the water. It seeped through my boots as I looked down at my reflection: tired eyes, a swollen cheek, a split lip. The dirt and sweat on my skin seemed heavier just looking at them. With a sigh, I stripped and waded into the pool.
The chill bit deep enough to steal my breath, but the shock was refreshing. The icy water started to ease the ache in my head and numb the throb in my cheek. I ducked beneath the surface, letting the river’s murmur fill my ears until my lungs burned. When I broke the surface again, I drew a long breath and pushed my hair back, taking in the quiet around me.
The guards had turned their backs slightly, enough to give me privacy while keeping me in view. A few birds darted through the branches above, returning to their nests. Nyx sprawled across a sun-warmed rock. Her sleek form stretched out in utter contentment.
I was rinsing the soap from my arms when the voices began.
Whoever said women were the gossiping sex had clearly never met soldiers with too much time on their hands.
The men spoke low, but the stillness of the alcove carried every word.
“King in the North or not, he’s still a man,” one said, a grin in his tone. “Can’t blame him for eyeing that healer. Foreign or not, she’s easy on the eyes.”
Another chuckled. “Aye, that she is. But word has it he’s promised to one of Lord Frey’s brood. That’s how we crossed at the Twins, wasn’t it? Old Walder won’t take kindly to being made a fool, no matter how pretty the cunt.” The soldier’s crass words grated my nerves.
“That’s the truth,” a third agreed. “Frey’s got more daughters than sense, but no woman is worth angering him over. The Young Wolf should keep both of his heads clear. The old man’s temper’s worse than a wildling’s.”
Their laughter rippled through the trees.
“Women in camp are bad luck anyway,” one of them muttered. “Too many kings and lords go soft when a woman’s near. Start thinking with the wrong head.”
“Aye,” another agreed with a snort. “That’s how wars get lost… and started!” They all chuckled along at that.
After their laughter died down, one of the older guards spoke up, voice weary and sad. “Women in camp or not, luck’s been poor for the Starks regardless. The young master’s fall, Lord Stark’s head on a spike, Lady Sansa held in King’s Landing, and little Arya’s vanished, probably dead if you ask me. Nothing good ever comes from a Stark riding south. I wish Lord Eddard had never left the walls of Winterfell. With all the ugliness he dealt with during the Rebellion, you’d think the gods might grant his family a rest.”
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
I tilted my head back, rinsing my hair, pretending not to listen. But I heard the strain in their voices, the worry buried beneath the talk.
Since entering this camp, and not for the first time, I had heard honesty and quiet loyalty in the soldiers’ voices. No malice or discontent, only the weary affection of men who followed a king they believed in. I wondered if all armies spoke of their leaders this way. Somehow, I doubted Tywin Lannister ever earned devotion through anything but gold and fear.
When I finally rose from the water, the cold air stung my skin, but my anger had cooled with it. I dried myself with an old blanket from my pack and dressed in my spare clothes, leaving my hair unbound. The damp strands clung to my neck as I fastened my cloak. When I rejoined the men, none met my eyes.
Nyx left her sun-warmed perch and prowled to my side, her dark fur a sharp contrast against the pale stones. She brushed against my leg, and I rested a hand on her back.
“Let’s go,” I said quietly.
The men fell into formation. The sun was setting by the time we reached camp, gold light spilling between the trees and turning the air to honey. For a moment, the world looked peaceful.
Then the wind shifted, bringing the smell of cookfires and smoke. My stomach growled. I had missed lunch, and the day’s events had left my body hollow.
As the tents came into view, I wondered if I should have risked slipping away after all. Freedom tugged at me, close enough to taste, but the thought of being caught held me fast. Better to wait, I decided, and plan for a cleaner escape than one born of desperation. And with a quiet sigh, I felt the weight of the war settle over me once more.
———————— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆₊⁺⋆ ————————
My pack of guards peeled off as we returned. Only the one assigned to me that morning followed as I made my way back to my tent. On the way, I stopped at the cook’s fire and collected dinner, planning to eat alone by my small campfire. Tonight’s meal was corned beef with softened carrots and potatoes. The bowl’s warmth seeped into my hands as I walked, and for a fleeting moment, it comforted me.
My head was bent as I neared my tent, eyes staring lovingly at the food in my hands, when I looked up and stopped short.
Robb Stark sat by my fire on a small log, paused mid-stoke as he tended the flames. Grey Wind rested beside him, silent and massive. His yellow eyes turned gold in the firelight.
Robb looked at me, a faint smirk playing at his lips.. When he didn’t speak, I did.
“Your Grace,” I said, the words dry.
“Robb,” he corrected automatically.
He tossed the stick he was holding into the fire and rose. The fading sunlight caught in his hair, setting it alight like embers. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Nyx plopped by the fire, unusually relaxed in the atmosphere, but I could tell she was just waiting on the word before she would pounce.
“I thought you might try to run,” he said at last. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Is that why you’re waiting here? To see if I’d come back? Isn’t that what my armed guard is for?” I tilted my head towards said guard, who had taken up his usual spot. However, I noted that his eyes were clearly avoiding looking our way.
“Partly.” Not raising to the bait, his tone stayed calm. “And partly because I felt I owed you an explanation.”
“Kings don’t owe anyone anything,” I said. It wasn’t unkind, more a reminder of the truth.
He studied me for a moment, eyes searching.
Realizing this wouldn’t be a short conversation, I sighed and set my bowl on the small table beside the fire. I watched him and waited for him to continue.
“You think I hold you here because I enjoy it or because I want to,” he said finally. “I don’t. But you came into my camp with warnings of betrayal and a field of dead men behind you. You can’t expect me to let you come and go freely without knowing who you are or what part you play in all this.”
“That’s just it,” I snapped, louder than I intended. “I don’t want to play any part in this. I wish I had never come across your dead men. I wish I had stayed in the Mountains one day longer so I could have avoided all of it. I wish I hadn’t stopped to listen to a dying man’s plea. But most of all, I wish you would just let me leave!”
Robb’s composure cracked. He stepped forward, the temper flashing in his voice before he could stop it.
“Seven Hells! You won’t even tell me your name! You have to admit that’s suspicious enough for any man! What would you do if you were me? You’re obviously hiding something, and I can’t let you leave until I know why!”
The words hung heavy between us. Nyx tensed beside me, and I realized how loud we’d gotten. Robb drew a slow breath, forcing himself to calm.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “But I can’t let you leave. Not until I have some answers about who you are. I have a duty to my people and to this war.”
I gave a short, humorless laugh. “Your need to liberate the North and avenge your family,” I said, quieter now. “has nothing to do with me.”
He stepped closer. “It’s not just about the North or my family. It’s about the realm. Do you know who sits the Iron Throne? What he’s done? Joffrey Baratheon is a bastard born of incest. He’s half mad and fully cruel. The realm barely survived one mad king. It will not survive another.”
Exasperation flared again. “I don’t care who sits the Iron Throne,” I said, my voice like flint on steel. “I only care that I can live in peace. Free and alone.”
“Peace?” he repeated, incredulous. He took another step closer. It was then I noticed how close we had gotten during our argument, close enough to reach out and touch.
“There’s no peace while men like Joffrey and Tywin rule.” He said with a sneer. “You think hiding in the woods will save you? The war will find you, no matter how far you run.”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give ground. I was the one to step forward this time, closing the space between us until only a breath separated us. “Then let it find me,” I said. “At least I’ll die on my own terms, not caged under another man’s watch.”
We both were breathing heavily, and at this distance I could see darker streaks of gray in his otherwise blue eyes. Tension hung in the air. His breaths puffed against my face, drawing my attention to his mouth for a brief second, before my eyes jumped back to his again as his carefully reigned in patience broke again.
“And what terms are those?” He said in a low voice. “You speak of honor as though it means something to you, but when it comes time to stand for anything greater than yourself, you vanish into the trees. Where is your so-called honor that you claim to admire?”
The words struck harder than he likely meant them to. I felt them land, sharp and humiliating. I stepped back, breath catching. For a heartbeat, I had no answer. Shame burned beneath my ribs, familiar and unwanted.
When I found my voice again, it was quiet but steady. “I think it’s best you leave, Your Grace, before I say or do something that truly earns me a cage.”
Nyx had risen beside me, her fur bristling, pacing in slow circles. A low growl rumbled from her throat, rolling through the still air. Grey Wind was also standing at attention. His hackles threatening to lift and snarl if one wrong step was made.
Attack?
No, I sent firmly through the bond. Stand down, girl. We’re trying to leave, not buy a cage beside the lion.
Robb’s shoulders eased slightly. The anger drained from his face, replaced by something unreadable. He looked as though he wanted to speak again but decided against it.
After a long pause, his voice softened. “Be sure to eat,” he said, glancing at the bowl I had set aside. “We can talk again in the morning.”
I said nothing, only gave a curt nod.
He turned and walked away, Grey Wind falling into step beside him. The wolf glanced back once, his golden eyes unreadable.
When they were gone, the camp felt suddenly too quiet.
I exhaled slowly and sat beside the fire. The stew had gone cold, but it was filling all the same. When I finished, I ducked into my tent. Nyx circled once before lying down beside me, her tail curling over her nose.
The last light of day slipped through the tent flap, painting the dirt floor a faint gold before fading to shadow.
I felt my exhaustion settle heavy in my bones and I prayed for sleep. But with Robb’s words echoing in my head and the ache in my chest still tight, I knew sleep would once again be fleeting.