driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Robb & you!
Broadcast: Voice
Action: Mostly at the Blue Fish
When: Today

Network – Voice
[When Robb speaks his voice sounds like that of a sick old man above his eighties. In his life he hasn’t been sick often but when it strikes it mostly manages to floor him at least for a couple of days.]

If there is anyone still in possession of anything that used to belong to my sister Arya, I would like to ask you if you can bring them to me. I stay at the Blue Fish. My name is Robb Stark, I am in charge of security. I am also her oldest brother.

You have my thanks.

[To those who come by to hand over Arya’s stuff or want to run into him – The Blue Fish]
[Robb is waiting for you at the docking station, dressed in the uniform belonging to his job as head of security. The only abnormal thing about him is that he looks pale and has a running nose.

You will be thanked for your donation and if you’re lucky he’ll sneeze in your face as well.]

[To those who want to come visit to fret over Robb and/or is a resident on the Blue Fish]
[Most of the day Robb will be found in his bed with the lights off and his head tucked away underneath the blankets. He has messaged his captain about his sickness and prefers to sleep it off.

So come fuss. He’ll probably be grouchy about it.]

[Action – closed to Bran]
[After Robb has taken a shower and changed into different clothes he actually feels a bit better. At least, good enough to pay his younger brother a visit. Just to check if he is still here, on this bloody ship.

Robb knocks twice.]

Bran? [And another knock.] It is me, Robb. [Robb is sure that Bran probably knows that it is him but just in case.] I need to speak to you. [Or well, just see him. Just knowing that he is allright.] It is about Arya...ah...

[The rest of the words disappear into a loud sneeze.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm--I'm all right. [He's not all right at all, he misses Arya, is terrified for her and her fate. He wonders what would've been worse: not knowing her fate and assuming her dead, or knowing her fate, and the horror that awaits her? He's not sure at all.

He can't even tell Robb she'll be fine.]

Thank the gods for that small mercy. [Dry as ever, as he moves away from thoughts of Arya, and he moves to pull up a chair and sit next to Robb, setting the soup aside.] But I still say you look worse than you did then. You look--

[--like death.]

--horrible.

[Sick or not, Robb does not believe his brother’s words. He must miss Arya even more.] Most of the time...you are not easy to read. [At times it is difficult to determine how Jon feels. He mostly wears the same sullen look on his face.] You are not as well as you claim to be, brother... [The smile around his lips is a sad one.] ...At least I have the excuse of blaming it on a sickness.

[He gazes at Jon and laughs a little when he emphasizes how horrible he looks. After that his body decides that it is enough merrymaking for the moment and he falls back into the pillows again, coughing and breathing heavily.]

I fear I do not make...a pretty corpse.

[A soft breath. He owes Robb this much, he supposes.]

--no, I'm not. [He slumps a little in his chair, chewing on his lower lip.] I miss Arya. [And he doesn't even have the luxury of hoping she'll be all right.

He scowls at Robb--yeah, haha, funny.] No, you wouldn't. [The words are heavy, weighed down with old grief. Tell the Freys that, he thinks.] You look alive, though. Sicker than a dog, aye, but still.

[Robb gazes at his brother while he tries to make himself more comfortable by shifting inside his bed.]

I miss her as well. [He nods and sighs a heavy sigh.] You may be sad in front of me. Gods, there is not much to laugh about anyway.

[He is too busy with fighting his fever to go on a guilttrip.]

Heh...I am glad you came...I worried for you. [Slowly he moves to roll on his side so he can face Jon properly.] I plan to live... [He laughs softly.] I am not dead, Jon. I still live.

[Jon is too exhausted to tease Robb about laughing at anything, and besides, it's true enough--there's not much to laugh about. But he does push a hand through his hair, as if trying to smooth it back.]

You shouldn't be worried, I'm not the one who's sick. [No, but you're the one currently withdrawing into himself because he misses his sister.] Well, if you plan to live, you should eat. [And here he nods to the soup.]

I am not going to die. [It are the wrong words at the wrong time and with a groan he presses his face into his pillow.] Not here. I mean... [That aren’t the best words either.]

I know...Arya’s future is one of suffering... [His fault, most definitely his own fault.] It is my fault that it is so. I am sorry, Jon... I truly am...

[Followed by a nod. Because yeah, he could use some soup.]

[But you will, and you have.]

I know what you mean. [And there's the old sorrow and grief again, making his voice sound heavy. Robb is apparently just as out of practice at being reassuring as Jon is, which is the one thing he'll take a small amount of comfort in.]

Arya-- [He stops. I want my bride back, Roose Bolton's bastard had written, and now the words bubble back up, unbidden. He can't say she'll be fine, not after what he's heard of her lord husband.] It wasn't your fault. None of it was, you did all you could.

[Not for the first time, he wonders what would've happened, had he succeeded in running from the Wall long ago. Could he have made a difference, somehow?]

[Robb nods slowly. He is in no position to have conversations like this.]

We should spar again...after this bloody fever lets me be... [He smiles a bit of a sad smile.] I might die...but I am not dead yet. [He tries another smile but that one is even less convincing.]

It was not enough... [The more he talks, the more tired he gets.] Jon... They beat Sansa...Arya... I never traded the Kingslayer for them... Jon... I could have... [He could have saved them, they could have been safe.]