asgardmeridiem | and so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of castamere

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and so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of castamere

Who: Arya, Catelyn and Robb Stark
What: Honesty is the best policy....right? (a.k.a The Starks Break the Red Wedding News)
When: Day 406
Where: Robb's joint
Rating: M for Misery (talk of canon deaths in here, it won't be pleasant)

[ Jon knows, Robb says, and he and Arya both realise that they have to thell their lady mother sooner rather than later. There are so many here, from beyond the wall all the way to the summer isles, and with this many Westerosi running around it's only a matter of time before someone tells Catelyn. Better she hears it from them, surely.

Probably, but that doesn't make Arya any braver. That doesn't make her any more hurried about setting a date. She comes back from Ginnungagap, but Robb is hurt. There's excuses everywhere, and then Jon finds out without them and it makes it real all over again. They have to do this, she has to do this, lest she blurts it out one day at the worst possible moment. At least this way, they can plan. They can be gentle - or as gentle as the news of a sawn throat and the sight of your first born son with a pierced heart can ever be.

The day comes faster than Arya is prepared for all the same, a message from Robb informing her quickly that their mother is coming to check on him. She picks up quickly, now is the time to do this and-

...well, okay she's mostly tempted to run again and let someone else deal with all of this, but she doesn't. She steels her expression and sets her jaw, and she makes her way to the two of them with a heavy heart. There's no time like the present, and it seems like her time to break her family's heart has come at last.

Great.

A knock on the door announces her presence, and for once she feels just as small as she really is as she stands by the entrance, trying to find some decent way of announcing who it is. A hello would surely suffice, but the words catch in her throat all the same, and eventually she just knocks again. ]

I'm here.

[ Nailed it. ]

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[Robb might be panicking a little.

Okay, he might be panicking a lot, because as much as he knows he has to tell their lady mother sooner or later--better sooner rather than later, in fact--he's dreading having to tell her. At least Arya's going to do it with him, which is a slight improvement over the talks he had with Bran and Jon. Slight.

He stuffs his stump into a pocket when he hears a knock at the door, and Arya's voice announcing her arrival, and opens the door to let her in. It's obvious that he hasn't exactly slept very well, but for the most part, at least he looks a little better now. His room's even clean, mostly, save for a few stains of bacon grease on the carpet, and all right, maybe his bed doesn't look that well-made, but come on. He's got one hand.]

Will you be all right, after this?

[ She's not one to judge unduly, and in this circumstance the state of Robb's room is the least of her worries. When your immediate future involves discussing your mother's death with the woman in question, priorities tend to get a little skewed in that favour. ]

Yes. [ The answer comes too fast, too rushed and it's plain as day to anyone with ears that it's a lie - but it's a necessary one. At least, as far as she is concerned it is. Once Arya steps inside she does offer Robb the hints of a smile, corners of her mouth touching into an upwards curve, and it's sad and pained, but at least it's there. ] Will you?

[ She looks at him, eyebrows raised as she tries to find a way of holding her arms that doesn't feel uncomfortable. Give her a sword and she's at home, but this? This is completely out of her depth, and it's no understatement to say she's panicking too. Still, it has to be done. ]

[ It should have been her first task, to come to Robb the moment they returned from Ginnungagap, she should have come to him immediately to fuss over him as a mother should, to care for her son. He will always be my little boy. But no, he is a man now, she reminds herself. And she must take care of her three youngest, check on Sansa, make sure that Bran is taken care of before she can come to him. She is not aware that Arya is with him, no, she saw her youngest daughter flit off the moment they returned to city (controlling Arya was still like trying to control the winter's wind it seems). Ned, I'm trying.

But she comes as soon as she can, bringing a basket of food, and a fresh shirt she had managed to stitch together while she was away, worrying about him, about Sansa.

This place is strange, the rooms that Robb stays in are stranger, she remembers that she should knock, that he is a man who may need privacy, that she is not the lady of this house (or of any house), Winterfell is farther away than ever. So her hand balls into a fist as she raps on the door, waiting for permission to enter.]

I will be. [It's proven for a lie the second he hears the knock at the door, and he feels as if the floor's fallen away from under him, and if he looks down he just might fall.

He sucks in a breath to steel himself. He's done this twice before, he can do this once more (but it never gets easier, never). If he can speak of his death to Jon and Bran, he can speak of it to his mother. He can, and that's what he keeps telling himself when he opens the door.]

Mother. [He steps aside to let her in.] Arya and I have something to tell you.

[ They'd gone to Ginnungagap and Arya had managed to push the image from her mind. She'd used the time well, had explored and even cracked a smile here and there while she thought no one was watching. She'd managed to be around her lady mother and keep her usually far too loud mouth shut.

And then Catelyn appears at the door, Robb lets her in and all Arya can see is the dead body floating in the river. All she can think of is dragging her out - Nymeria dragging her out - and realising who the red, red hair belonged to. All she can remember is being so close that she could practically feel the warmth of their arms and We're here. Robb's just in the castle, and my mother. She had been so close. ]

Mother. [ She nods her head, steps aside too in a rare show of politeness that is sure to be jarring enough for the other two Starks. Arya only gets polite when it's serious. ] It's important. Perhaps you should...sit down.

[ That's how people do this right? That's how they break horrific news? Maybe they should have made some kind of tea, fetched some wine... ]

[ Catelyn has no idea the agony either of her children wrestle with in that moment, although she can sense a shift in their moods. It had been that way since she'd arrived here, although she had assumed that after all they had been through, they were all weary. She knew she was.

However, their words worry her, for the expressions on their faces are grave. Her brow furrows as she enters the room, setting the basket aside in a sort of daze instead of giving her son the hug she wanted to. Her eyes flits between her two children before she moved closer to them both.]

What is it? [ She knew that her two other children were accounted for and well as they could be given the circumstances. It could be about Jon Snow, she knew the affection both Arya and Robb held for him but she did not know what news about him would be so serious unless he was dead. And if it were that, she did not know how to feel. Her eyebrows lift, as a mother would when scolding her children to tell the truth.]

Tell me.

[Now or never. He draws in a breath to keep himself together, to make sure that his throat hasn't grown so tight that he can't speak the words he needs to say. Do it slow.]

What's the last thing--the very last thing--you remember of the Freys? [He doesn't wait for her answer, instead continuing on, or doing his best to.] Because--

[We follow our hearts wherever they take us.]

--I married someone else. [It's just as hard to say that as it had been back in Westeros, made even harder by the worse news to come. He takes a breath, before he goes on.] We lost the Freys for that, and to win them back we made them a new offer, to marry Uncle Edmure off to the Lady Roslin Frey instead. Lord Frey agreed, on the condition that I come to the Twins to make apologies for the wrong I did.

[He sucks in another breath, but it's shakier this time, and he reaches up with his left hand to wipe away the tears threatening to spill.]

After--after Uncle Edmure and his bride were carried from the hall for their bedding, I--the doors were shut, and--the Freys turned their cloaks, and Lord Bolton as well. [Jaime Lannister sends his regards.] We had guest right, but it didn't stop them from slaughtering all those who remained in the hall, and anyone else who put up a fight. [The words stick in his throat, but he forces them out all the same, trying to keep his tone flat and failing.] I--the last thing I remember, before waking up here--Roose Bolton put his sword through my heart.

[He looks away, then, to Arya.]

[ They had agreed to tell her slow, break the news gently and make it as easy as possible, but Arya had not accounted for how she would take the news. This is more detail than she's ever been afforded into the slaughter of her mother, brother and their men. For a moment after Robb finishes speaking Arya stands in silence, mouth just a little open in a mixture of anger and shock. She's had nothing but contempt for the Frey's and Lannister's alike after that moment, but in this moment that utter hatred reaches all new heights. Unspilled tears reach her own eyes too - not for the first time since their death, but certainly more prevalent than ever before - and for the life of her she can't figure out if they are from sadness and loss, grief and anguish, or anger and absolute fury.

And then she realises that Robb is looking to her, that she has to finish this miserable tale and she falters slightly. Arya was sure that she'd thought this moment over a hundred times since her and Robb's first discussion, but now that it is actually here her mind has gone blank. Finally, she swallows, and what she intends to come out is something gentle, as kindly as she can put it. ]

And they cut your throat.

[ What actually comes out is certainly not gentle. ]

Edited 2014-02-21 12:45 (UTC)

[ It is much to take in and Robb gives her little time to take it in. He speaks first of breaking the vow to the Freys, of how he married another. Shock hits her hard. Yes, she knew that he would be married someday but how can he be a man wed, now. It cannot be. You are only a child. Although that he married someone other than a Frey does prove that he is still a boy, that he was heedless, stupid, reckless.

But before she can say as much, in more diplomatic terms, he goes on, explaining how Edmure became the Frey's prize. Some prize. A fool of a lord instead of a king. She loved her brother but he was not what the Freys were promised, not even close. To her surprise, Robb explains how Lord Frey accepted this exchange for so little, something tickles at the back of her mind, something she cannot name. Suspicion.

She watches as her son wrestles with his emotions, sees the unshed tears well up in his eyes, her stomach twisting because she feels something is coming, something horrible is coming next.

It had been a dark thing, the thought of outliving her own children, there were nights that she haunted by formless dreams of her children. Of Ned, headless and murdered. But it had been a harsh reality that she came to face with. She had spent so much time thinking that Bran and Rickon were dead, that Sansa and Arya may come to see the same fate that...

Somehow, finding out about her own death surprises her. But somehow, she cannot think of it, imagine it. Its a blow, to hear the words fall from Arya's lips, to see the emotion on her face or the lack there of, except for unshed tears.

They cut your throat.

Yet all she can say as she feels her knees weaken, her throat go dry.] But you... [ she looks to Robb, emotions welling up inside of her. The thought of his dead so surpasses her own that she cannot even feel grief for herself. Have I failed him too?] You survive. You must survive. [ She hears Ned's voice then, A sword through the heart leaves no survivors, Cat.

Her hand reaches out to balance herself on something, anything, catching the wall as she leans against it, trying to remain strong, trying not to fall apart in front of them.

Not my son. Not Robb.]

[Robb had figured they wouldn't have spared his mother. They'd slaughtered everyone else, killed him and would've killed Arya had they known she was there, and when he'd last seen his mother she'd held a knife to Frey's lackwit grandson's throat--the Freys wouldn't have had any reason to spare her, after he died, and all the more reason to kill her.

But he's never imagined how she died. It's a thing far too painful for him to think of, so he'd shoved that thought away, but now that he hears Arya speak of it (they cut your throat is not gentle in any way, not to their mother and not to Robb), somehow he can imagine it too well, and the news is like a cold shock to his system.

He looks to his mother, then, and gods, he wishes he could've found a way to soften the blow somehow, if even slightly.

I died I'm dead I felt the sword I died and I can't change it I am so sorry--]

I didn't. [He doesn't say any more, can't say any more, because his mother is not the only one trying to be strong, trying to be brave, here. If he says any more he'll break, more than he's already done.]

[ She already knows the words are far too harsh the moment they escape her lips, but despite the way her hand claps over her mouth they can't be taken back. They cut your throat, it's out there now, the bluntest of truths and if there was one word to describe the Starks in this moment it would be raw. ]

I tried to go back for you. [ Her confession is barely a whisper, it wouldn't have been audible at all in a louder room, but in the shocked silence of Robb's room she's practically deafening.

She hasn't grieved for them, not really. There hasn't been enough time, they've always been on the move and she's been too caught up in the hatred to shed real tears for the people she has lost. Now though, there's no sword to distract her and no place that she needs to reach before she can break down. There's nothing to hide behind, and the lump in her throat and tears in her eyes make her take a few steps back, shaking her head.

She hasn't broken down yet, she doesn't want to now, and the temptation to just run is stronger than ever. ]

I'm sorry.

[ It's the best she can offer. ]

[ It is almost too much to take in at once. Her son is dead, her life has been forfeit. And when Arya speaks, she is reminded that with them both gone, there is no one to save her, to save Sansa. She does not know if her brother is alive or her uncle, even then they would have little ground to stand on once Robb's army disbanded (and undoubtedly, they would). Her babies are lost to the world now, those who are not dead and buried.

Yes, there are northmen who might remain loyal to House Stark but she cannot expect them, as much as she'd like to, to give up their own safety or families out of honor. Not everyone has such stubborn honor. For a few breathless moments, she feels like the world may crumble beneath her, that all is lost, and she has utterly failed her children in every way.

Arya's words confuse her, she doesn't know how close her daughter was to being there, how close she'd been to holding Arya in her arms once more or how Arya saw the horror of the aftermath. Maybe she will ask later, maybe she won't.

But right now, as her eyes open, she pushes away the anger, the shock, the confusion, and the sorrow to see both of her children standing before her, hurting. And even if she has failed them in another life, she will not here, if she can help it. She moves forward, reaching for Arya first, knowing she will fight it the most, pulling her to her body for an embrace.

I need this as much as they do is what she thinks, tears burning in her eyes now, reaching out for Robb with the hand that doesn't clutch Arya to her chest, trying to draw him into the embrace, her voice ragged with emotion as a tear slips down her cheek.]

I am the one who is sorry. I failed you both.

[The first time he'd done this, with Bran, he'd managed not to break, though it was a near thing. The second time, he'd soaked Jon's shoulder with tears, but it had been brief, and wiped away easily. This time, he doesn't bother trying to hide it, because this is his mother, and he's missed her far too much for far too long. He steps forward and lets her pull him into the embrace, because it's been too long, far too long.

He wraps both arms around her and Arya, forgetting for a second about the state of his right hand in the emotion of the moment.]

Gods, Mother--I'm sorry, I couldn't win the war-- [I lost the North, I couldn't bring Arya and Sansa back home, I won the battles but I lost everything else, I'm so sorry.]

[ Her mother's arms around her won't bring either of them back. Robb's hand - or lack thereof - on her back won't change their deaths, and the tears threatening to spill won't make her any less lonely. They're here and she can feel the warmth of family again - so why exactly is she still so scared of just staying here with them?

She doesn't run. She wants to - very nearly does for a moment, she even jerks away a little when they cradle in close to each other, but she still stays. An arm furls out from her chest, slow and stiff and uncertain as anything as it wraps around Catelyn's waist. The other moves slower, fumbles for Robb's hand, and it's around then when she finally cracks. ]

Don't go. [ Her voice is deceptively calm, but her grip tightens and eyes squeeze tight. ] Don't go again.

[ And there it is. As vulnerable as she's been in a long time, and as vulnerable as she's like to ever get in the company of others. She cracks, her voice breaking just a little in the last word, and her grip turns vice-like as she closes her eyes. It isn't a request she wants to make of them, because she's understood enough about Asgard to know that there isn't much choice in the matter, but she asks it all the same. All she wants is to hear the words. ]

[ Catelyn was not sure her heart could break anymore than it had but with two of her children --my babies-- in her arms, the hurt, the despair (and the denial in Arya's) in both of their voices shatters what remains of her heart. Her arms tighten around them both, her face burying itself against the top of Arya's head as her other hand lifts to touch the back of Robb's, fingers stroking his curls, no longer wispy and soft like when he was a boy, but thick and coarse. He is a man now.

She wants nothing more than to be strong, to fight and claw and destroy the future that is coming her way. I'm so sorry, Ned. I failed you again. I cannot keep our children safe. It is beyond my power. She tastes the failure on her tongue, it tastes like blood as hot tears finally slip down her cheeks and she takes in a shuddering, gasping breath.]

I will fight with all I have to keep you with me. [ Bran and Sansa too. She keeps her voice as even as she can, vowing to herself that she will do anything, pledge her life to keep them here with her, to keep them safe. She was born a trout but she became a wolf, she will fight like one against any who try to take her children away.

She presses a kiss to Arya's head, tucking it beneath her head before she glances at Robb tearfully, looking older than her years, offering him a sturdy but sad smile.] We will keep them safe here.

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and so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of castamere

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