Savages - LolaStark

Chapter Eighteen

[Robb]

He was at an impasse.

Anger and sorrow was pulsing through his veins and he paced the room of the Crag. They'd been pouring over strategy for hours and all he could think of was her. Fallon. Broden and Rowan were just as anxious whilst Roose and the Greatjon were still searching for options that did not include Robb abandoning his men.

She had ruined him. He blamed her for making him this way, this impulsive savage. He could only think of her safety, of what Stannis planned for her. But mostly he just thought of getting her back, of how stupid he'd been to force her to go in the first place. He couldn't handle worrying over her and commanding an entire army.

But he had chosen her. He hadn't asked to be King.

He'd chosen Fallon and he wanted her back. Whatever sacrifice had to be made.

"Your Grace," Roose said, interrupting his thoughts and Robb looked up at the man who held a letter in his hands and a solemn expression. "It is a letter, from Garlan Tyrell."

"Has he found her?" Robb asked sternly. It was all that mattered, he thought.

"No, I'm afraid not," Roose replied. "But he has reached Dragonstone, offered his services to Stannis as was the plan. He says he will send word once he finds her."

"See that you inform me when he does," Robb said shortly before staring back out the window he had stopped at.

They were too far away, there at the Crag. Fallon was in Dragonstone and though it was only a week's ride to the coast of the Crownlands, it felt a world away. Two weeks had passed since Garlan Tyrell had found their camp and pledged his services. And it had been two weeks since he'd received word of Fallon's capture. It was the same day that his mother came with grave news as well. This time of Winterfell.

"Has your bastard secured the castle yet?" he asked Roose, keeping his eyes focused on nothing in particular out over the seaside.

"He has captured the traitor, Theon Greyjoy. The boy's sister escaped with most of her fleet. They took slaves from the coast of the Stoney Shore. But he is confident that the soldiers we sent will be enough to protect them from any further attacks."

"Very well," Robb said simply.

Everything seemed to be falling to shambles. Bran and Rickon were reported dead, killed by Theon under the castle's siege. His best friend, his brother even, had seen to the deaths of Bran and Rickon. Catelyn would see no one. She sat long hours in her chambers and when he'd pass by her door he'd hear her hoarse sobs and whispered prayers for Sansa and Arya, the latter of the two who no one seemed to know any news about.

Garlan Tyrell was a whole different matter. Robb hadn't wanted to trust the man. But there had been something in the way he spoke of Fallon that made him feel as if he had no choice in the matter. He could tell by the things he knew, the things he'd quoted from his time with her that made Robb believe that Fallon trusted the man, for whatever reason. No one would let Robb go after her, and he wouldn't let her brothers go either. Once Garlan had healed, he had volunteered for the task.

It was his family name that would give him the advantage, he'd explained. The Tyrells were mulling over their options and Garlan knew if he were to go to Stannis under the guise of treating for an alliance, the Stag King would not deny him. The Tyrells were important in this war and Garlan had made that very clear. And Robb could not waste time ignoring that fact.

Robb placed his hand on the archway above him as he leaned closer to the window, feeling the coldness against the glass. He closed his eyes then, trying to cease his countless thoughts of how things had gotten so out of control. He was straining to conjure up the images Fallon had once described to him, the memories she had created for them to hold once they were separated. Memories of their lovemaking on the sandy shores of Skagos. Memories that would never exist.

But it wasn't supposed to happen like this, he thought.

He was supposed to have more time. Time to cope with her leaving, long kisses and great professions of his love. He was supposed to have time to convince her to stay with him, to forsake her betrothal to Aenys Frey, the man who now sat outside the castle walls, bedding whores and laughing about how he would soon be once again a free man, unbound by the ties of his betrothal.

It had taken both Magnar brothers to hold Robb back from splitting that man's skull.

Robb had never had such bloody thoughts until now. He imagined doing horrible things to the Frey, imagined running his sword through Stannis Baratheon's throat. They were taking over him like a sickness and it hadn't gone unnoticed by his men, namely Roose who seemed to encourage him to focus on their successful campaign of the Westerlands rather than Fallon or Aenys Frey.

But as hard as he tried, the thoughts would not cease.

He felt tainted by the evilness in his heart then. He felt even more unworthy to lead the men South and as days passed and more of his family was ripped from him, he started to forget why he was fighting in the first place.

What was he to fight for if not the people he loved?

He did not know.

[Fallon]

The binds were tight, cutting into the flesh of her wrists and making it nearly impossible to sleep as they held her hands high over her head. She felt herself falling in and out of consciousness, her eyes heavy but still unable to find their peace as the weight of her body became too much for her strained shoulders.

"You know, that bloke keeps calling us the guests of honor," Gendry said, from his spot chained to the other wall. "But I'm startin' to think these high lords don't know much about hospitality."

While she didn't open her eyes, she couldn't help but smile, though it soon turned into a grimace as a flash of pain rushed through her dried lips. The cut on her lip had yet to heal completely and the salty air from their travel to Dragonstone had left her feeling dried out and uncomfortable.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asked her and had she full control of her arms she would have simply shrugged.

"I'm not sure. How long do you think we have been down here?" she asked, trying to rest her face against the stone wall behind her but it was rough and wet, only adding to her discomfort.

"Nearly two weeks I'd 'spect. That red haired woman said we'd see the King soon."

"Stannis," she whispered, confirming what she had already expected. "He's our uncle, you know."

"Still hard to wrap my head 'round," Gendry said, shaking his head and Fallon swallowed to try and sooth her dry throat but was all in vain. "Makes sense though, why people took a sudden interest in me - why my mum would never talk about my father."

"Tell me about her," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"I don't remember her all that well," he admitted and she envied him at that.

Fallon could remember everything about her mother. Details even her brothers had forgotten. But never had she known her mother to be an unfaithful woman. She loved her husband above all else, even her children.

"Just," she started and sighed. "Just tell me what she looked like."

"Fallon," he said softly. "You look unwell."

"I am unwell Gendry," she whispered. "We haven't eaten in days. I haven't had a drop to drink since - I can't even remember. Just, tell me. Tell me a story, about anything you remember of her."

"I'm rubbish at stories," he said with a chuckled and she thought of Robb then, saying the same thing. "And besides, I like yours much better. So strange, it is, that we lived such different lives."

"Mine was all a lie," she replied and he shook his head.

"You were a highborn, as you should be. I was a blacksmith - not even. A smith's apprentice."

"An honest life," she said softly. "Go on now, tell me about her. You know all about mine."

He sighed heavily and Fallon could hear the reluctance in his voice. But she had to know. It was like one giant puzzle she could not find the pieces to. She needed to know more. Why had the king chosen her mother? How many others like her and sweet Gendry were out there? Still alive?

"She wasn't some Lady like yours. She didn't have none'a those fancy clothes," he told her, pointing towards her now ragged gown. The grey fabric had been tattered at the hem, and ripped at the sleeves. "She was a barmaid, worked long hours late into the night. Most nights I never saw her. But the nights when I did, I remember she used to hold me and sing. She had a fine voice, I think that's why the men liked her so much."

"Did she have dark hair like you?"

"No," he replied with a fond smile. "She had yellow hair, bright like the afternoon sun. My master said I look nothin' like her."

"She sounds lovely," Fallon whispered, coughing slightly as the dryness tickled her throat.

"She was," he replied quietly and for a long time after there was only silence in the dungeons.

In the distance she could hear the rats crawling around, the pittering of their claws against the stone floors. There was a stench that she had once noticed, the first day they'd dragged her down into the dark room. It was an awful smell, the smell of rotting flesh and excrement. She could hardly breath. Now she could no longer smell it. And when she did, she was sure it was her own horrific smell only making it all worse.

"How did you know?" he said, and she thought for a moment she might have fallen asleep as her head popped up, startling her.

"What?" she mumbled, leaning against the remaining cloth of her sleeve.

"How did you know we were, you know, his?" he asked.

"I was there, in the Storm Lands," she started. "I saw Renly, his younger brother. You look just like him, you know," she whispered and he didn't open her eyes to see his reaction. "I knew then that I was a bastard, but Garlan told me I was Robert's. I didn't believe him at first. But the way they all stared at me. Like I was some sort of ghost. They say I look like her, Cassana. Robert's mother."

"You don't look like your mother?" he asked, confused.

"Not much," she replied. "Not that she probably minded. It was probably a great relief to her actually."

"Why does he want us, Stannis?"

"I do not know," she said honestly, finally opening her eyes and looking into his.

He was worried, she realized. Somewhere deep inside of her, she knew she was worried also. She was worried she would have to die, watch him die. She was worried she would never get off this island, never see Robb again.

She thought back many times to their goodbye. Had it been good enough, she would wonder. Had it been final? But she knew it hadn't been. Nothing would ever been a good enough goodbye when it came to Robb Stark. She had left his camp knowing she'd return, and now here she was, hundreds of miles away without any way of telling him how much she loved him.

"Joffrey killed Robert's bastards in the capital," she told him. "They were hunting us as well. Stannis may have another use for us."

"And if he wants us dead?" he asked, his brows furrowed. Fallon, who had once been so good at comforting a man with her words suddenly had no comfort to give.

"If it is the will of the gods," she whispered, turning her head back to her arm and closing her eyes.

"Let us hope your gods are much more merciful than mine, yeah?"

She could hear him moving his chains, struggling his arms as if to get loose. But it would all be for naught. She had tried for days to escape the restraints, only to cause blood to drip down her arms from the cuts and slices she'd received in return. Even if she did escape now, she would be too tired to move. She hadn't stood since she'd been placed here. She was weak. Weak.

Suddenly, Gendry's movements stopped, and she heard a large metal door open, followed by footsteps. There were heavy ones and light ones, boots that scraped against the filthy floor and then stopped when they seemed their loudest. She could hear whispers, voices that were distracting her from her sleep and finally she opened her eyes.

"You really think it necessary to the starve them?" a man's voice asked, a very familiar man's voice and she did her best to focus on the face currently looking directly at her frail form. But before she could say his name, another voice interrupted her.

"Better to purify the blood before the ritual," the woman said, and Fallon recognized her as the red priestess, Melisandre. "She looks worse than she is, Ser Garlan. I can assure you that she is quite well. The boy is used to starving, the girl has probably never wanted for anything in her life."

"Your Grace," Garlan said then, looking away from Melisandre and towards Stannis, the man Fallon had never laid eyes on before now. "I thought the ceremony wasn't to take place before the third had arrived?"

"The Lord of Light seems to have need for only the two," Melisandre interrupted. "With the girl from the Vale dead, and the Storm boy taken by the Lannisters, we only have these two left."

"What good does Edric Storm do for the Lannisters?" Garlan asked and their eyes met and for a moment she could see hope.

"Good to them so long as he is out of my reach," Stannis said, his frown deep. "No doubt the boy is already dead."

"Is that not what you planned to do with him anyways, Your Grace?" Garlan questioned, not taking his eyes from Fallon, who struggled to stay alert.

"They will not be thrown into the ditch with their throats slit," Melisandre said, as if she were insulted. "They will be a great sacrifice to the Lord of Light and our King."

"But your Grace," another man said, a man Fallon did not know but she had heard his voice once before, conversing with Gendry when she was halfway between consciousness and sleep. "They bear your blood, your niece and your nephew."

"They are the product of my brother's whoring ways. The only importance they carry is the blood in their veins."

"Baratheon blood," the man said, his voice raised and Stannis' eyes were now glaring daggers at the man.

"They are bastards, nothing more. Not worthy enough to carry the name of my father."

Stannis' eyes then met Fallon's. For a long moment she watched him and she wasn't sure if it was an illusion or a trick of the light that caused her to see a flicker of something soft in his eyes. But as soon as she thought she saw it, it was gone and in it's place a look of disgust as he walked passed them both.

"Ser Davos, bring the boy," Melisandre said with a grin. "And Ser Garlan, the girl. They must be cleaned and prepared for the ceremony at sundown."

Both men hesitated only a moment before following her instruction and Fallon could see the contempt in Ser Davos' eyes as he watched Melisandre retreat. Garlan approached her with his gallant walk and knightly stature, but his eyes were warm as they looked down at her. He crouched down then, pulling out a key and unlocking the shackles around her wrists.

She let out a cry as her arms fell, the pain and relief almost too much. He caught her wrists in his hands and inspected them slowly. Before placing his arms under the rest of her and lifting her into his arms. Fallon wasn't sure if it was a pleasant or painful experience, but she welcomed the warmth of his skin against hers. She rested her head against his shoulder, looking up into his warm golden eyes and he smiled briefly and stroked the hair from her face. If it wasn't for the weakness of her limbs and the disgusting smell she was emitting, she might have kissed him then for the split second of joy she felt. Knowing she was safe with him.

Ser Garlan the Gallant.

He had come back, just as he'd promised.

[Fallon | Garlan]

"It will not be much longer, now," he whispered, pulling his fingers through her long, raven hair. "She will come for you soon."

He watched Fallon nod slightly, her eyes closed as she sat in the tub, the water streaming off of her skin and a small smile of pleasure on her pink lips. Her fingertips traced over the cut on the corner of her mouth and he could see the angry wounds on her wrists. He frowned at the sight of them and pulled her hands back down under the warm water. She cringed slightly as the water hit the angry red flesh, but she would thank him later when they were healed.

"Tell me again," she whispered, leaning her head back into his hands and Garlan held her there gently, ignoring that her wet hair was dripping onto his dry clothing from his place where he sat outside the tub.

"Must I?" he teased. "Wouldn't you rather me recite love sonnets with your name in them, or perhaps a song I wrote whilst on the road, of your beauty."

"Ser, you take too many liberties with me," she told him, grabbing his hand in hers. "If I did not know your character so well, I'd say you were trying to steal me away from him."

"My Lady, I will have you returned to your Wolf in no time," he whispered. "Let me have this time to myself, revelling in the sight of your milky flesh and perfect breasts." She did not hold back a laugh then at his improprieties, though her voice was still hoarse and her laugh immediately followed by a deep cough.

"I do wonder how Robb ever let you volunteer to rescue me," she said, turning in the tub so she could see him, kneeling down nearby and he wrung out the water from her hair and smiled down at him mischievously. "If I were stronger, I'd wipe that smirk of your pretty face with my fist."

"And by the Seven if I weren't a knight sworn to your king, I'd have you right here."

"I know a lady who would give you quite the chase," she told him, thinking of Enat and her fiery spirit that matched her fiery hair. They would make a fine match if she was not still pining after the sweet Jon Snow.

"Then, pray tell, why have you not sent her to me before?"

If she had learned one thing about Garlan Tyrell, it was that he loved women. It wasn't that he lusted after women, like some whore in a brothel. But he loved, deeply, each woman who matched his ideal of courtly beauty. She had spent her last few days at Storm's End convincing him that he would never win her heart no matter how many poems he wrote for her or battles he won.

He had been disappointed, but soon was revived when he set his eyes upon a beauty with golden hair who danced in his arms the last night before all the blood had begun. Robb would be furious if he heard of Garlan's efforts and most especially if he saw the way the man was looking at her naked body now.

But she was too weak, too tired, and too hungry to care about the formalities of his presence now. Melisandre had given him strict instructions to keep an eye on her before she was collected for the ceremony and Garlan had quickly proceeded to tell her his plan for her rescue. It had to be slightly altered of course. Fallon would not leave Gendry behind. Not when they both could be saved. She and Garlan shared many angry whispers before he finally agreed to her terms and the plan was sufficiently adjusted with a disclaimer that stated she was his top priority as he was under strict orders from Robb to bring her home safely, no matter the cost.

That was the part she was afraid of.

The cost.

Garlan helped her out of the tub then, placing her feet on the ground and holding her there until she could stand on her own - aided by the bedpost that she was currently holding onto. With a hot bath and a steaming bowl of soup she was suddenly feeling much better than she had in that dungeon. Her legs were still weak but she would gain that strength back in a matter of days. She could fight her way out and she could certainly handle a horse.

"Tell me again," she repeated, this time her tone more serious and he helped her dress, a simple dress of brown wool that had been brought to her chambers.

"You are to tell her, Ser Garlan-," Garlan said, his voice deep, mocking Robb's Northern accent. "-that she is safe. Tell her that her brothers live and fight in her honor alongside all of her Skagosi warriors. Tell her that she is strong and will live to see me again, to contradict me and argue everything I say. And tell her that I love her, that I will never stop loving her, and that the moment she returns I will have her for my wife."

Her heart leapt at that last part.

To be Robb's wife was impossible, she knew that. But Robb had never given up the notion that she was his and he would have her for his wife, despite the pacts that were made for him to marry other women. He'd told her once the only pact he wanted to make was a pact before the gods binding the two of them together as one.

"He is such a foolish man," she whispered with a wide grin as Garlan tied up the laces of the dress behind her.

"He is a man, much in love," Garlan corrected.

"Yes, foolishly in love."

"You will not marry him then? After all he has done for you?" Garlan asked her and she shrugged.

"How can I marry a man when I am promised to become his sister?" she asked, her grin falling. "We are both to marry Freys."

"That is not how your brother tells it," he whispered, pulling her hair over her shoulder and plaiting it with expert fingers.

"Which brother?"

"The dark one, in both appearance and demeanor," he said and she looked back to see Garlan mimicking Broden's frown and furrowed eyebrows. "He says Aenys Frey will not live to see his wedding day."

"Then he risks Robb's alliance, which is a risk we cannot take."

"Many men die in battle, My Lady," Garlan said softly. "You think your dear Aenys is immune to the risk of death during war? At his age?"

Fallon watched Garlan's eyes shine as he spoke and she realized he was not jesting. Broden truly did mean to have Aenys murdered. And the only way to ensure Robb's alliance would not be broken would be to make it look like his blood was on Lannister hands. Aenys was an old man, and there would be no lack of witnesses that would corroborate whatever story the King asked them to.

That was something she could not think of now.

"When do the ships sail?" she whispered. "And once we escape the fortress, how much time will we have until the word gets out."

"Not much, which is why it would be easier to leave the boy," he said seriously and she frowned.

"He is my brother too."

"Fallon. You barely know-" Garlan said impatiently but she cut him off.

"We will not leave him. You can leave with both of us, or return to Robb empty-handed. There is no other option."

He was not happy with her decision nor the finality in her voice. But still he would do as she asked. Because that was the way of the knight, sworn to Robb and sworn to her.

"As My Lady commands," he said quietly and she placed a hand on his cheek.

"You are a good man, Garlan," she told him and he placed his hand over hers, his palm warm on her skin. "I will be forever grateful to you."

He nodded once and grabbed her hand, placing her fingertips against his lips and then gave her one of his genuine smiles. It was the kind that was not trying to charm her, not one of his smirks. It was the real smile of Garlan Tyrell that she had grown so fond of.

There was a knock at the door then and her throat was too coarse, too dry, for her to shout. So it was Garlan who, after stepping away from her with his arms crossed over his chest, shouted for them to enter.

It was Melisandre who entered then, looking from Garlan to Fallon with a small smile played upon her red lips. Fallon couldn't help but notice she was a beautiful woman. Beautiful women tended to have more power. For all that Garlan Tyrell talked of her beauty, Fallon knew she was plain, that Garlan and even Robb saw something very different than what the rest of the world saw. But there was no doubting this woman's beauty before him. She was exotic and slender, all of her curves leading up to her supple bosom.

"Ser Garlan, the King awaits you," she said, her voice stern.

Garlan nodded, looking back at Fallon for only a moment before he walked across the room and passed the red woman. Melisandre placed her hand on his arm for only a moment as she whispered something in her ear. Fallon could not quite hear her but he looked at her with a curious furrow of his brown before she let go and he stepped forward. He was barely out the door when he was grabbed by several guards and panic arose within Fallon as she tried to run towards him.

"No!" she shouted, her throat aching, as the guards grabbed hold of him.

Garlan fought back, she could see him throwing his fist into one man's jaw whilst his feet kicked, distracting them long enough that he got a hand on his sword. But they stayed his hand, holding his arms back as one of the guards thrust his fist into Garlan's stomach.

She tried to run towards him, tried to move her feet with what feeble strength she had, but she only succeeded in moving a few steps before she fell into the small table nearby, knocking over a pitcher of wine and two goblets that had been emptied an hour earlier by her knightly friend.

She could taste the bitter taste of blood in her mouth as her face hit the floor. It was soon after that she felt strong arms around her, several pairs lifting her from the ground and dragging her broken body out the door where she could hear Garlan's shouts down the long corridor, in the opposite direction she was being taken.

And then there was silence.

Aside from the thin slippers on her feet, dragging against the stone floor, she did not hear another sound. No longer could she hear Garlan's struggles or his shouts. And Fallon could only think the worst.

He was dead.

"Why?" she said to the woman walking next to where the men were now pulling her struggling body up, walking quickly through the dark hallways.

"Did you honestly think I did not see the way he looked at you?" she said, as if she was insulted. "I suspected his loyalties when he arrived, but his deception was confirmed when I saw the way he looked at you in the dungeon. He looks at you like a man looks at a lover."

"He is my friend," Fallon spat, angrily. "You will release him and Gendry and the King can have me." The woman laughed as they walked and they were soon at their destination and Fallon was dropped next to Gendry who was kneeling before Stannis, a guard on either side of him.

"You think your blood will suffice?" Melisandre said as if Fallon had told her some great joke.

"I am Robert's first born, his eldest trueborn."

"Trueborn?" Stannis scoffed. "You are a baseborn bastard, born out of my brother's lust. Do not flatter yourself girl."

"Trueborn-," she argued desperately, trying not to think of Garlan's fate or Robb's anger should he hear her plea. "-in that Robert had no trueborn heirs with his Lannister wife. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are all the Kingslayer's bastards. I am the first child born of his blood. That makes me true."

Melisandre didn't look at her, nor did she look at all interested in what she had to say. She simply was preparing an assortment of objects on the table nearby as Fallon was forced to her knees next to Gendry.

"Lord Stannis," she whispered and his expression only hardened.

"It is King Stannis," he corrected and she sighed.

"I only kneel to one king, My Lord," she said as politely as she could muster. "But that does not mean that I seek to debase or discredit your claim to the Iron Throne. You are Robert's heir."

"And yet you bow to your King in the North?" he said skeptically.

"Robb Stark only wishes to keep his dominion of the North, to free the men who have been so long oppressed. The North was it's own kingdom once. They can govern themselves again," she explained and he raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

"As was your homeland, as I do recall. Are you to beg your King for Skagos to return to its own dominion as well?" he asked her and she shook her head.

"Take my blood, but leave my friends. No one wants your throne, My Lord."

"Do not listen to her lies, my King," Melisandre hissed. "She is a baseborn savage, Robb Stark's whore."

"I am your niece!" Fallon said forcefully as she pulled at his cloak, gripping it in her fists with what little strength she had. "Look at me!"

"Fallon," Gendry tried to interject, pulling her back but she would not cease.

"He told me I looked like her. Your brother did. Renly. When I visited your home, before your men brought me here. He told me how the resemblance nearly made him weep," she said, her voice bitter and Stannis watched her carefully, his expression not changing as the guards pulled her back to her place. "He told me you watched her die, watched her ship sink to the bottom of the ocean and you were helpless to save her. Do you see her face when you look at me? And Gendry," she said, placing her hand on Gendry's shoulder. "He looks like Renly, does he not? Look here, at his eyes. Just like your brother."

"Enough!" Stannis shouted then.

It was the first real reaction she'd seen from him. His fists were now clenched and his the muscle in his jawline twitched as though he was in danger at any moment of losing control. Fallon could feel her heart nearly pounding out of her chest and all her strength used in that moment had caused her hands to shake, her strength now replaced with weakness.

"Enough," he said again, this time a whisper.

Like a snake, in a garden, Melisandre slithered over the man's shoulder so that her lips were near his ear.

"The Lord of Light requires a blood sacrifice, my King. The battle awaits us and your enemies cannot defeat the blood of the stag, the blood of Robert's heirs will run through your veins and you will win your throne," she said, her lips touching his skin but her eyes on Fallon.

Stannis too stared at her, his now sullen expression covering his features as he looked over the two of them, Gendry and Fallon. His family. But Fallon could see that for all the unwillingness to kill them, it was Melisandre who had the power over him. And it was her who had already sealed their fate.

"Do it," he whispered then, turning his head in shame and Melisandre smiled.

She walked towards the table, grabbing the dagger and twisting it in her hands as she inspected it's sharpness. She was painfully slow as she chose which weapon was to do the deed and even Ser Davos, who stood watch nearby looked quite anxious with each dagger she lifted into her hands.

When she finally did choose,however, Fallon saw it was a jagged blade, the handle a darkened and aged wood with symbols she did not recognize. The woman turned then and dipped her blade into the large fire before them, letting it heat for only a moment as she whispered her spells and prayed to her false god.

Fallon's hands were no longer shaking because of weakness, but because of fear. They were only stilled by the callused grasp of Gendry's hand, wrapping around hers tightly, their fingers locked. Both knelt there, their hands clasped tightly and a thousand thoughts rushed through Fallon's head then, all thoughts of Robb.

Robb's smile, Robb's eyes and the way they shined in the sunlight like the sea on a summer's day. She thought of his laughter and the awful way he told stories, leaving out all of the good bits until she made him retell it again and again. She thought of his kiss, his lips on her body and their mouths entwined in passion. And she heard his words. And there was nothing else.

"Mo Faol," she whispered and it was the last sound before the blade came down.

And blood was shed.

[Rowan]

The battle was heavy.

The blood had been spilt all along the snow covered grounds and lifeless eyes stared up into the grey skies. Flesh was mutilated, faces marred and men left unrecognizable. But the battle had been won and the victory belonged to Robb Stark, the King in the North. Days of warring had finally come to an end, a welcomed distraction that gave Rowan something to think of other than his sister's captivity or her lover's sorrow.

A week had passed since Garlan Tyrell's last letter and the men grew increasingly anxious with each passing hour, their only remedy was their thirst for the battlefield. They had lost many men, but the enemy's loss was much greater. Robb Stark was winning this war. But he was slowly losing himself.

Rowan watched as the king became a recluse, becoming colder and harder with each passing day. He mourned the loss of his brothers, the loss of his father, the loss of his home. He felt helpless and it was a feeling Rowan knew all too well. He too had lost his father, his brother and his sisters, his home. All he had was the battle and he constantly reminded Robb of the same.

As they returned, their horses tired, their bodies broken, they saw the sun rising over the tree line. Camp was quiet upon their return. Morale was steady but all knew there was no victory so long as the King was stuck in such a state.

Rowan dismounted his horse and joined his brother by the fire, the empty look behind Broden's eyes matching Robb's. Nothing could be said that hadn't already been said. There was only hope upon the arrival of Garlan's letters and news from the impending battle at the capital between Stannis and Joffrey. But news of neither had arrived in days. And the anxiousness only increased.

"Let me ride out to Riverrun, Your Grace," Broden said, not looking up from the fire. "Perhaps news has reached your uncle of the battle, of Fallon."

"News will come," Rowan insisted, placing his hand on his brother's shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. "Brother," he said sternly. "You are needed here. How can we take Casterly Rock without you by our side."

"I am sure you can manage the vanguard, Rowan," he said, his voice dark. "I mean to find our sister."

"And do you mean to spend a week or more traveling to a place she may no longer be!?" Rowan asked, his voice raising. "Ser Garlan said he would send word. His last letter stated our sister was safe at Dragonstone. Surely he has escaped with her already and will be on his way to our camp this very minute."

"And if she is dead?" Broden said and Rowan frowned. "What if that Rowan? What if she is dead. What then?"

"Do not say such a thing," Rowan hissed, reaching for his brother but was stopped by Robb's hand on his arm.

"Enough," he whispered with sadness in his eyes. "She would have both of your hides if she saw you at each other's throats this way." Rowan looked to his older brother who nodded and it was clear neither would pursue the conversation further, at least not until they had heard more.

"Olyvar," Robb said then, over his shoulder. The Frey boy was at his side quickly, awaiting instruction. "Send for Lord Bolton. I want news of his bastard's progress at Winterfell. And-" he said, pausing as he looked to the ground. "Send for my mother as well. Tell her I would have words with her before I send her to Riverrun."

"Yes Your Grace," Olyvar said, jogging off in the direction of where the council members who had stayed behind would be meeting, most likely strategizing on how they would take Casterly Rock, their next target.

They had conquered nearly all of the Westerlands. Robb's campaign had been extremely successful. All of his battles were won with only a minimal loss of men. And with each win, he seemed humbled yet steadfast. But Rowan wasn't sure how long the King could keep up his facade. It seemed they were one more bit of bad news away from a total breakdown.

"Why hasn't there been news?" Broden asked and Robb shook his head.

"Tyrell has been reliable until now, his letters always timely," Robb reminded them.

"Perhaps Stannis moved up the battle, or his plan was discovered?" the Greatjon said, wiping blood from his face with a bit of cloth. "Battles do not always happen according to schedule, boy."

There was a girl nearby, nursing Cley Cerwyn's arm, fashioning a sort of sling for him to wear for the time being as she then left his side and approached the king. The great beast at his side, Grey Wind, growled as he stepped in front of his master, looking at her with his teeth bared and his hair standing up.

"Grey," Robb said offhandedly but the direwolf didn't listen, only growled louder.

"Your Grace," the girl said softly, looking down at Grey Wind, unnerved. "I just wanted to be sure you sustained no injuries."

"Thank you, Lady Jeyne," he replied politely. "But I am well."

"You shoulder," Jeyne added, looking nervously down at Grey. "Does the wound persist?"

"No, thank you My Lady, it has nearly healed," he told her and she looked dejected as he looked away.

Her head hung low as she walked away, leaving Grey's demeanor to soften with each step she took away from his master. Rowan found the beast's reaction interesting, having only seen him behave in such a way with a handful of people since he'd met the fury-legged animal. But for whatever reason, Grey Wind did not like Jeyne Westerling, especially when she was near Robb.

Footsteps in the snow caused Rowan to turn on his heel and see the council approaching, Roose Bolton holding several bits of parchment in his hands alongside Rickard Karstark and Robb's mother, Catelyn. None of the three greeted them with smiles, which would have been against most of their character. Instead, he saw solemn expressions, angry and worried. Lady Stark's eyes were red, something he had seen since news of her sons' deaths had arrived at camp. But now, they were red again, and they were all looking at Robb.

"Robb," she said, her voice tattered as she choked back tears and Robb took a step backwards when she tried to reach for him.

"What is it?" he asked, looking at the three of them, waiting for an answer that it seemed none wanted to give.

Rowan felt his chest tighten, a lump growing slowly in his throat while the drop in his stomach came rather quickly. Broden was at his side, Aedan quickly as well. It seemed every Skagosi warrior was at Rowan's back as they watched Robb reach for the letter.

Rowan wasn't sure if his hands were unsteady or if it was his pounding heart that made his body shake, but he knew even before Robb's eyes looked over the words what they would say. And he would have none of it. But as he turned to leave, his brother's hand clasped over his shoulder and he was unable to move.

And slowly, he saw Robb fall to his knees, the letter falling from his hands onto the snowy ground. Rowan was shaking his head as he watched the heartbreaking scene unfold and he too fell to his knees, reaching for the letter as he tried to read it but found the letters blurred, the handwriting illegible. Broden was at his side instantly, crouching down in the snow.

"I cannot," Rowan tried to say, his words interrupted, labored as he tried to concentrate on anything other than Robb's shouts. "I cannot read it," he told his brother and it was now clear why as hot tears started to fall down Rowan's cheeks. The words had not been blurred, it was his eyes, wet with tears.

Broden took the letter from him though neither had to read it, neither wanted to know, wanted to have confirmation of what had already been said through Robb's actions. But as Rowan wiped his eyes and looked down at the letter in his brother's hands, he saw what he had dreaded most.

'Fallon Magnar, bastard daughter of the deceased King Robert Baratheon, is dead.'

He read it twice, and then a third time to be sure. But the words never changed. It was a letter from King's Landing, news of the Battle of Blackwater that told of Stannis' defeat and the capital's success and the death of the traitor, Fallon Magnar.

Fallon.

Fallon was dead.

"She's dead," Rowan said, blankly, his breathing labored. "She...she's dead," he said, his tears now falling and Broden grasped him.

Rowan didn't think then as he grabbed onto his brother and wept, like a woman, in front of these men. He didn't care how he looked, how weak they thought he was. He only cared that he felt a loss deep within him, like something being shattered or ripped from his insides. Like he was left to bleed as the searing pain cut through him like a hot knife to his stomach.

Catelyn was holding her son then as well and each man was on his knees, watching their King weep for the woman he loved. Everyone knew it then, there was no secret to a man's loss that was so great as love. They had seen him lose his father, his brothers and now this. Now Fallon, the woman who fought by his side.

There was a hushed silence aside from the agonizing cries and Rowan didn't know if they were coming from him or Robb. All he knew was pain, and suffering. Fallon had always been his. Since they were children Rowan had claimed her from all his siblings and loved her better than he'd ever loved any person since he could remember. They shared secrets as they grew together, side by side over the years. And she always knew how to bring him joy.

And that had been stolen from him, from Broden, from all of them.

And no more did he feel sadness, he felt fury.

Then suddenly over the silence, there was a hearty laugh. It started small, and then grew, louder and louder over the crowd until all eyes had turned towards the source of the laughter. The man's face was contorted into an evil smile as he stood over the men who knelt. Aenys Frey.

"So what, the bitch is dead!?" Aenys shouted. "The King in the North weeps like a maid because his whore can no longer warm his bed!?"

Rowan was on his feet before Broden, but Robb was up before both of them as he ran towards the man, shouting out in rage as he lunged for him. There was an uproar then, Freys against everyone as they shouted out for their King. Rowan and Broden could see Robb thrusting his fist into the man's face, over and over in a way Robb had once told Rowan was savage. But the Skagosi knew it well.

Hand to hand combat was common in battle back home, and as he watched the blood spurt from Aenys' face, he could see Robb's primal urges taking over. Robb was no longer the refined, highborn from Winterfell. He was a man who felt pure, unadulterated hatred.

It was Broden who pulled him back, the King thrashing wildly as he tried to return to beating Aenys' face in but could not move against Broden's strength and soon Rowen's arms were holding him back as well.

Aenys stood, slowly, with the help of his brothers as he wiped his face, finding gashes filled with blood that marred his once smooth skin. He spat into the snow, watching the redness taint the white ground and then stepping slowly towards his King, who was now guarded by many men and a very angry direwolf who growled in front of his master.

"So you lost a woman, boy, you want to lose this war too?" Aenys yelled, holding his face. "One word from me and my father will pull our forces out of this war. Though, you may need to look to make another deal with him. He'll be disappointed that his previous investment is dead in some ditch somewhere."

Grey barked out viciously as Robb tried, again to lunge towards him.

"You can take your men. I don't want you here!" he shouted and Rowan could here Catelyn try to protest.

"Robb, don't do this, do not say these things while you are upset," she pleaded but he did not listen.

"Tell your father our deal is void. I do not need his lot trying to slight me at every step!" Robb shouted and Aenys smirked, his teeth red with his own blood.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he said, a condescending bow before Robb's feet. He turned to walk away then, his brothers beginning to follow, before he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "It is too bad the Magnar whore was not around a bit longer," he said evilly. "I so would have loved to fuck her."

Blades were drawn, like slow motion, one then two and then Rowan lost count as his own was pulled from it's sheath and he ran towards the man who spat disgusting words about his sister. There was no one to stop him, he thought as he ran for him. He thought if he could just get to him before Broden held him back he would be able to rush his blade through the man's throat. But when he looked to his side, Broden too was running towards him. Only Robb was being held back. Bard and the Greatjon keeping him from committing murder.

But none of it mattered.

One moment they were all rushing for him as he ran, and the next there was a sword through his heart and a wolf at his throat. Rowan didn't know whose blade had pierced the man but as he stopped and pulled his own, he saw there was no blood, only what was left from the battle an hour before. Broden too stopped at his side, his blade untainted.

But as the screams died, they saw Aenys Frey on his back, Grey Wind holding his throat between his teeth and Aedan Friel's blade pierced through and out the man's back.

And it was finished.

Aenys laughed no more as the bled to his death and as the Freys watched their brother die, they too found a reason to draw their swords. Everyone knew it was coming, but no one anticipated the speed at which the great brute Hosteen would plunge his ax into Aedan's stomach. And Rowan watched his friend fall to his knees and then his side as he held the large wound. Men were immediately at odds, Freys fighting to avenge their brother and every one of Stark's bannermen finally showing the Frey men exactly what was thought of them.

But Rowan only cared for his friend as he dropped his sword and ran to his side, looking down at the man who was now struggling to breath as he bled out into the winter snow.

"Come on old friend," Rowan whispered, holding Aedan's hand in his and watching the pain in the young man's eyes. "You've fared worse as I recall."

"Much worse I'm sure," Aedan tried to joke back as he coughed, blood staining the white snow next to face. "I did love her," he whispered. "I always loved her," he told Rowan who simply nodded, knowing he spoke of Fallon and he wished she were here to hold Aedan's hand. She may not have loved him the way she once did, but she would never let Aedan die thinking he was unloved. Rowan looked up, searching for Bard or for young Melot, Aedan's brother. But both were occupied by Frey blades rushing towards them.

"She knows, brother," Rowan whispered. "Fallon loves you, she would say that if she were here, you know she would." Aedan smiled then.

"Yes, I guess she would," he struggled to say. "Tell Enat - tell her-" he started but soon the life left those eyes of his and Rowan felt whatever was left of him ripped out.

Death.

He was surrounded by death.

He looked up to see Bard and Melot rushing towards him but he shook his head as they knelt next to Aedan's lifeless body. Bard let out an angry shout and if it weren't for the Greatjon's blade in Hosteen's belly, the old man would have gone after him himself.

"Stop! Stop this!" came a staggered shout and slowly the men paused, Freys falling to their knees and their swords falling into the snow. "We do not need more bloodshed, not today!" he shouted, his eyes swollen and red. "Any Frey man who wishes to stay is welcomed, if not, then ride out before noon."

"Our alliance is through Stark!" Jared Frey yelled from his horse as he mounted. "You've made a mistake this day and my brothers' blood is on your hands."

Nothing else was said, Robb simply turned, without an answer as he lifted his sword and replaced it in his sheath. Rowan watched him retreat towards the tents and disappear behind a flap that belonged to the tent he once secretly shared with Fallon. In there he'd find a few of her dresses folded neatly in her trunk, a cloak made of the thick unicorn hair in the northmost part of Skagos, and of course the necklace Robb had planned to give Fallon upon her return.

But no Fallon, Rowan reminded himself as he looked around at the bodies that bloodied the snow, at Broden who knelt next to Aedan's body with a solemn frown as he covered his eyes with his hand.

"We will honor them, and our Nighean!" Dearg shouted to his men. "We will honor her as is our custom."

"Death is only the unending horizon, may their rest be eternal," Bard whispered in the Old Tongue, looking down at his son, his bloodied hand closing the now lifeless eyes.

Rowan had never seen the Nighean funeral custom of Skagos. His aunt was the last living Nighean and she was still alive and well up in the North. But soon he would know what the ceremony entailed. Because this was for his sister. It was a fact he could not face but could not seem to escape.

Fallon was dead.

And she was never coming back.

A/N: Whoops, looks like I started some epic drama. Guess I better try and amend that by posting Chapter 19 very quickly. I'll do my best. Thank you for reading! My reviewers are simply the greatest! xoLola