ARYADNE - XVIII

                                    

                                          
ARYADNE REPLAYED THE VOW in her head all night. He had shed blood for her, and welcomed her to seek vengeance against him if it ever came to it. Her fears were only somewhat alleviated. She still dreaded the inevitable day to come.
It had not been long since the date was set. With nothing else to do and nowhere to go, she had breakfast in her tent and worked on her wedding dress. Though she wished not to think about it too much, she knew that she could not do Robb and his army the insult of arriving in shabby travelling clothes. They had passed through a town the day before where she had managed to buy some fabric. It was cheap, far from the silks she had worn all her life, and a shade close enough to ivory. With only some golden thread she had picked from a cushion, she attempted to embroider the edge of its square neckline in order to save it from plainness. It was only just setting in that she would not only be a wife in a few days' time, but also a queen.
She had become so engrossed in her work that she almost didn't hear the announcement of a visitor. Though she wasn't entirely sure why, she hid the dress under the blanket on her lap. Ever against her, her heart fluttered at the sight of the man standing in the entrance to her tent. She stood without thought and all the fabric fell to the floor. "Robb," she greeted him, scrambling to retrieve it.
His gaze fell on her, though he seemed distracted. He bowed but said nothing.
"You should have told me you were coming, I just had breakfast. Would you like some tea?"
Following her gesture towards the pot on the table, he shook his head. "There was news. I— I am sorry. Renly is dead."
They were just words at first. Just a statement with no meaning. She nodded slowly, still standing, her eyes fixated on the pile of fabric clutched in her hands. "I see." There wasn't much else to say. "Is your mother well? You said she was visiting him," she quietly asked.
"I don't know. She vanished from the camp along with the captain of his guard — the one who apparently stabbed him."
"Apparently?"
He shrugged. "Nobody seems entirely sure of what happened. I've sent riders to search for Mother."
"I shall pray for her safe return," she said.
Hesitating, he took a step closer. The table separated them. In a moment of weakness, she wished to move past it and embrace him. "You did hear me, right? Renly—"
"I know." Her voice caught in her throat. She would not let her emotions show, not in front of him. If she cried now, it would never end.
"I suppose it does mean one less threat towards you... but he was still your uncle. If you wish to talk about it, I may not know what to say but I'll do my best."
The offer was enough to bring a soft smile to her face. "Thank you, Robb. I assure you, I am perfectly fine. As you said, one less threat. Go, I'm sure your men need you far more than I."
There was something unspoken between them now, a distant fondness. Once friends, then strangers, now betrothed, it was difficult to know how to act around each other. He bowed again and, hesitating as though he hoped to speak again, he thought better of it and left. She forced away her tears with a few blinks and returned to her embroidery. Memories of her uncle and father came rushing back unbidden.
—
They spent another day travelling and, as the sun began to set, they made camp again. She was used to the process by now. It was always disconcerting, having to learn a new route through the tents every day. She walked now along the makeshift streets. The infirmary was a welcome sight. With suspicion all around her, she looked forward to the safety of its walls.