driftfleet | you gotta hold on to what you got, babe

Entry tags:

you gotta hold on to what you got, babe

Who: Jon "Ned Stark's bastard" Snow, Robb "king of sad trombone noises" Stark (

kingofbadlifechoices), Sansa "wants snuggles and cakes gets struggles and no cakes" Stark (

steeledskin), and Bran "guys I fucked up and told the truth" Stark (

summerschild)
Broadcast: n/a!
Action: Blue Fish. warnings for ASOIAF spoilers and discussions of death.
When: Just after these two threads.

[Jon does not stop first at Robb's room. He's not sure he can do this alone, as he told Sansa--he'd rather do this with all of them in one room. He could argue that it's for a pragmatic reason--he'd been beyond the Wall at the time of the Red Wedding, he doesn't have all the details--but in truth, he's not too sure he'll be able to keep his composure while talking about it.

So he finds Sansa and Bran, first.

Then he knocks on Robb's door, and breathes out. His breath, damn it, comes out just a little shakier than usual, his guard down much more than usual. With the developments of the past few hours, his walls have taken something of a hit, though he's trying very hard not to show the sheer panic happening inside.

Another knock. Open up, Stark.]

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[Robb has been crying like a little boy and not even ten thousand splashes of water in his face can undo the redness of his eyes. At the beginning he thought it might be some bloody nonsense spread by lying Lannister tongues. But it was not. Robb had always hoped that if he would die that it would be a honorable one. Not one by treason. Not one caused by lies and deceit or the whims of some mad king. Of old age, mayhaps, or on the battlefield. Just like he always hoped to marry for love. And that he hoped to be a good king. He probably has been hoping too much.

It does not help that he finds himself unable to keep his composure. When he pulls a straight face he can feel how he presses his lips together and when he tries to look stern his eyes water again. And his thoughts make even less sense. At times he feels sadness and grief and then there is anger and disbelief. When he thinks about how to avoid his death, or that of his mother, or that of his men, he comes with nothing. They stand no chance. Guestright won’t save them because apparently lord Frey wishes to dishonor his name.

Robb is sitting on the bed when he hears the knocks on his door. It might be Jon, or Sansa and as he stands up he comes to the terrible realization that this might be the only bloody chance he will ever get to be close to his family again.]

Gods...don’t cry like a bloody boy...

[He utters it softly while he dries his eyes with his sleeve and finally he reaches out to press the button that opens the door.]

I am glad you came.

[After those words he takes a step aside to let his siblings in, still trying his very best to keep his composure.]

[ by contrast, sansa is eerily accomplished at maintaining her composure. one might even doubt her sorrow, to look at eyes that only might barely suggest recent weeping. her skin is steel; she betrays so little.

except that when robb opens the door she parts from the others gathered and (a little boldly) wraps him up in her arms and hugs him tight. look at him, she thinks, being brave.

but she says no words. ]

[Jon falls somewhere between Robb and Sansa, in terms of composure--he's managed not to break down crying just yet, but there's a worried crease to his brow, a slight tremble in his hands, that gives him away.

Just a second after Sansa steps inside for a hug, Jon joins in as well, arms wrapping around Robb and Sansa and holding on tight. As if he's terrified, somehow, that if he lets go they'll slip right through his fingers and disappear. He's still going to smack Robb upside the head, for being a jerk to Bran, but not today.]

We've a lot to catch you up on. [And judging from his heavy tone, none of it is good. Where are they to even start, he wonders. He probably should have planned that out.]

[Bran hesitates outside the room, tiny and hunched in his chair as he listens to his siblings embracing. There would not be so much grief if it weren't for him, he thinks. They would all still be smiling and jesting, instead of weeping. Part of him wishes to go back down the hall, to hide in his quarters until they forget him. But the rest of him feels paralyzed, trapped by the horror of everything that's happened.

How did their lives turn out like this? How did winter come so quickly?

Trying to still his quivering lip, Bran draws his fur blanket up to catch any errant tears. He stays quiet, frozen just beyond the doorway.]

[Robb has always been quite good at standing tall while it feels as if everything around him seeps through his fingers like sand. But when he finds himself embraced by his siblings a soft but miserable sob escapes his mouth and he squeezes his eyes shut, noticing very well that tears are rolling down his cheeks again.

His fingers dig a little in the fabric of Jon and Sansa's clothes.]

Jon, you sound so bloody serious...

[He laughs a little before he pulls back and moves to turn to Bran. Gods, he looks so small.]

Bran. [Robb wipes his nose with the back of his hand. A very un-kingly gesture, but at this point he does not really care about his title or the crown that came with it.] Let me lift you out of your chair. [His voice sounds hoarse as he speaks and he tries his best to stop his hands from shaking as he grabs hold of his youngest brother.]

[ -- she remains on edge. like waiting for the headsman's sword to fall. there are strong words and there is laughter, and sansa is grateful to be wrapped up in loving arms, but she cannot shake the dread that feathers its way around the room. she doesn't even rightly understand how bran should feel guilty; she isn't privy to those details.

so, when robb invites bran to join them -- properly -- she turns her baleful eyes on the younger stark and asks: ] Won't you? Please?

[Jon huffs out a laugh--a ghost of one, anyway, weighed down with sorrow and grief. But at least he tried.]

None of it's very funny, I'm sorry. [He lets go at last, somewhat reluctantly, and glances at Bran and Sansa.] I was beyond the Wall at the time [not a lie, he doesn't know when his brother died exactly, but he knows enough to assume], so I don't know everything that happened while you were--

[--dead, he almost says, but the word sticks in his throat.]

[Bran lets himself be lifted, but he grips Robb's shoulders loosely, his eyes still cast down. It takes the added voices of Sansa and Jon, and the nervous breaths of laughter, to even bring him out of his doleful shell. He reaches to wipe an errant tear from the end of his nose.]

Sansa told me. I had heard no news since before Winterfell burned.

No, it is not.

[Robb lets out a sigh after those words, feeling tears sting behind his eyes. In a way he still hopes that this is some lie. But his lord father has not raised his children to become liars. They all know, they all confirm the same scenario and Robb's head is still spinning.

Without any further words he carries Bran to his bed and puts him down carefully. There is a bit of an urge to cover him with a blanket and tuck him in but he refrains from that. He does not entirely know what to do, how to sit, what to ask.

He gazes at their faces for a long, silent time before he finally speaks.]

I think it is better for me to listen. If I have questions I will ask them. [Even to his own ears his voice sounds soft and very worn down.] I have heard of feasts because of my...well...death at King's Landing. I wish to know the full truth of it.

[And he's fairly sure that it will hurt.]

[ she flinches. the weaker part of her constitution wants to lash out -- to counter bran's words by asserting how she didn't know what bran didn't know. but it all seems a bit...inappropriate to be quibbling over motive when the oldest and bravest among them stands with the ghosts of tears in his eyes.

as if to punish herself, however, sansa does disentangle herself from her brothers' personal spaces. she sinks to the far edge of the room -- as though she might be able to become one with the wall.

my brothers were traitors, and they've gone to traitors' graves. it is treason to love a traitor. those were the words she'd spoken on the day she learned of robb's betrayal at the twins. like killing him all over again. ]

The truth, Robb?

[ she trembles. will she be censured for telling the truth? baleful, she looks at jon -- as if hoping he might prove himself more knowledgeable than herself in this political thicket. ]

We owe you that much.

[Sansa looks at him, and all Jon wants to say is to point out that he was beyond the Wall. He doesn't know everything about Robb's death, hadn't even known until days (weeks?) afterwards. But he lets out a sigh, then looks at Robb.

They've kept it a secret for long enough. Time to lay it bare, he supposes.]

They called it the Red Wedding, from what I heard. [He also heard that they mutilated his brother's corpse afterwards, but that, he's not going to talk about. For all he knows, it's just a rumor, but he wouldn't put it past the Freys to have done so. Rage boils in his chest at the thought of it--wasn't it enough, that they betrayed and murdered his brother?] As far as I know, you were betrayed by both the Freys and the Boltons at your uncle's wedding, and died with much of your army there. Afterwards, they gave the North to Roose Bolton, for turning on you.

[And Arya to his bastard.]

Edited 2016-05-26 12:51 (UTC)

It was the Boltons who... [... who burned Winterfell, he wants to say, but from the safety of the blankets he feels far too small to face the memory.] They killed everyone. Old Nan, and Rodrick Cassel, and Dancer.

[Robb nods slowly and musters some sort of smile.]

Aye, the truth. [He is not sure if he is truly sad at the prospect of dying. What saddens him is that he dies in such a way. That there is no honorable death on the battlefield, there is no flock of children to look forward to and his family is nowhere near safe. And he will never be able to get justice for his father's death.

And while his siblings tell him the truth he tries to look at them and process their words. He tries to nod and he tries to pretend that he is perfectly able to string all this information together. But somewhere between Jon mentioning the death of his men and Bran talking about all those people who have been part of his own youth dying he starts to feel angry. His hands clench to fists and he presses his lips tightly onto each other.]

They put Winterfell to the torch, is it not? I cannot do anything at all anymore. Getting out... [Robb snorts the most bitter snort that has ever existed. What was he thinking? Being able to accept such truths, to take them like a man and nod bravely because he is a king and that is what kings do. At this point Robb feels anything but a king. More like a failure of a brother and a son.] I cannot get out of there... [He covers his eyes for a moment, trying to rub his tears away with the palms of his hands.]

And mother...?

[ she wrings her hands to the point of pain -- digging her thumb into the muscle tissue between her fingers. it's an anxious, worried gesture. by the morning, there might be bruises. but she needs to express herself somehow. true emotion would be too clumsy. tears would be unladylike.

sansa's throat feels hoarse and hot when she finally pipes up with a shred of honesty: ] With you, at the Red Wedding. I want to believe the two of you had each other, at least.

[ quiet blessings and threadbare thoughts. she's prayed for this memory often enough, alone, in the cold heights of the vale. hope that at least they were together when they died. ]

[Catelyn.

Gods, Lady Catelyn.

Jon has never felt any warmth from her, has always been treated rather coldly by her, has always known she never loved him--the bastard, the reminder that her husband's famed honor had faltered for a night. But even then, he hopes she had a quick death, a merciful one, even if he privately doubts the Freys cared overmuch about being merciful. She deserves that much.]

I'm sorry. [For what? For Robb's lady mother? For not being there, like he had so wanted to be? For not knowing until long after the wedding? For failing, in so many ways? For keeping all of it a secret?

Where does he even start?]

If there's anything else you want to know, you can ask, and you'll have an honest answer. [You're gonna regret that, Snow.]

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you gotta hold on to what you got, babe

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