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.]

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You can barely stand! I-I'll do it. Please.

[She was more worried that he might keel over in the attempt more than anything, though her embarrassment was insurmountable all the same.]

I'm sorry... [She moves into his space again, practically pushing him to hold himself up against the wall before dropping to her knees. She finds a point on the wall to stare at while fighting momentarily with the lacings. There wasn't going to be any say in the matter on his end unless he stopped her.]

[For a moment in time Robb is very aware of that what is hanging between his legs. Gods be good, even though the Targaryens have stopped being kings, queens, princes and princesses a long time ago, this woman is still of very high birth. And fever or not, he cannot ask such a thing from her.

But then again the wall of the bathroom is cold and finally he moves to press himself against it, breathing heavily while trying to remember the last time he had such a fever. Probably at the Crag, after he had taken that arrow. The wound had festered a little, despite the maester’s help.

He shifts a little when she appears in front of him, her hands on the laces of his breeches.]

You should not...

[After a heavy huff he forces himself to stand up more straight.]

My lady if you... [His hands sneak to the front of his breeches so he can unlace them by himself.] It is not fitting... [His cheeks turn a little redder.]

I'm not asking for marriage, Lord Stark. I'm merely helping you like any nurse maid would.

[Though she realizes a bit late that quip might cost her the last shred of composure and she has to look more intently at the wall so as not to look at him. When his hands find hers and then the laces, she draws away immediately to rest them against her lap.]

I've never- Targaryens don't become ill. It's a blessing, but at the same time I don't know entirely what to do to help. I only want to help you.

[She looks up at him then, ignoring the nakedness and the vulnerable position she's put the both of them in.]

But you are no bloody nurse maid. You are the rumored dragon queen. That is royalty...of some sort...or...

[Or something like that. Wasn’t she? She was a Targaryen or maybe a Blackfyre...and well, that does not really matter.]

I am a man wed... [But as he speaks he sways a little on his legs, the look in his eyes becoming an unclear one.] Gods...please... [Robb realizes he has no time to fret over his cock and the presence of a lady. He is burning up, he absolutely needs to get naked so he can properly curl up inside one of the cooling boxes.

He barely listens to her words as he finally starts to strip down, kicking his breeches away as if he is in the greatest hurry.]

Starks get sick... As you can see...

And you're the King in the North. Or so I've been told.

[Now was probably not the time to be making loose attempts at humor.]

You are. I am merely helping you in your lady wife's place.

[When he finally sees sense and she helps him towards the tub, hoping the cool water will help cool his head a bit.]

[Robb laughs in a hoarse way.]

I am king of nothing. [Because he is going to die. And dead men ruled over nothing. His entire kingdom did not even exist anymore.] Just call me Robb.

[Finally he shakes his head while sniffling.]

My lady wife has brown hair. Long...with curls... [Then he smiles, still standing in front of her stark naked.] She is very lovely.

[The water inside the tub is pleasantly cool and Robb sighs with relief when he feels it, slowly sinking into the water.]

This is far better.

Robb. You should worry yourself about getting better. Not over Westeros or the North, not over your lady wife and certainly not over me.

[She has to look away when he smiles at her, flushing a bit. It was honestly a strange feeling but she found the smile of his not unpleasant. It was certainly better than him scowling at her and being stubborn.

When he sinks into the water, she hands him a loofa, careful not to touch him directly if she can avoid it.]

You'll feel better in no time, I am sure. The cold water will help.

[Robb pulls his knees up and sinks a little into the water. He hears her words loud and clear and can’t help a little snort.]

Of course I worry for them... It would be folly to not do so. There is a war going on at home...and I... [He pauses to shudder.] ...I am sitting here inside a space ship, flying through a never ending world of stars and planets. That is not right. [Even when he has a fever it is not right.]

I should be on horse...

[Robb is not aware of her blushing and takes the loofa from her hand.]

That is...a bloody odd thing... Modern men clean themselves with this?

And worry won't change that. I know that too well myself. Mereen has not been without its problems any more than Westeros.

[Which was all her doing - she shook the establishment to its core. She had undertaken abolishing slavery in the largest slave city of Essos.]

Perhaps, on the next planet there will be horses? You could ride it all you like.

[She shrugs when he asks about the loofa.]

I don't know.

[She feels like she's answering for more than just the loofa right now.]

I only want to help. And I'm the same as you. All I want - all I have ever wanted since I can remember, is to go home. I wanted a place to call home. For me that was Westeros. Now, I don't know anymore. It's all so... out of reach, isn't it?

[She stares down at her lap, worrying her bottom lip a bit. She didn't like being vulnerable in front of a Stark, but Robb had somehow become an uneasy friend. At least she had started to consider him so. They hadn't always been so and this could very well just be like a spell - once the moment was gone they'd go back to how they were. Perhaps he'd even be angry at her for her behavior. And yet nakedness wasn't really something she'd been allowed to be bothered by - not when you are a Khaleesi of the Dothraki who did not shy away from nakedness or things of that nature.]

That is easier said than done.

[Fever or no fever, Robb pulls a face at that.]

I do not get that. Why people think such words will change anything. [He huffs and looks like a puffy brat for a moment.] It is like telling the wife of a fallen soldier that his corpse is not actually a corpse.

Home is... [Robb frowns.] ...it can be anything, really. You do not know of Westeros, so you cannot picture your home... [While talking he breathes heavily.] Home is...where your loved ones are. [He nods, as if he had to convince himself of that.] What do you consider home then?

[The only place that he could call home would be Winterfell for him. Winterfell, with his siblings, his mother, his wife and his own children. There would be peace.

Now there is chaos and war and everything is gone.]

It is... [He looks at her with tired eyes.] ...I wish I could go back. And do what good kings do.

[What do you consider home then? His question struck a chord. She still had dreams of the red door, of the house in Braavos where her room smelled of lemons from the tree that rested beneath her open window. She wanted to go back there some day if she could ever find it. She doubted she ever would.]

There is a place. Was. I am not sure if it is still there. When I was a child my brother and I constantly moved from place to place, fleeing Robert Baratheon's men as he tried to hunt us down over and over again. I'd never had a home before this place. It was a small house in Braavos with a red door. When I was a girl I would wake each morning to the smell of lemons outside my window from the tree that grew in the yard. We were forced to leave after Ser Willem Darry passed away. He'd taken ill and when he died the servants took everything we had brought with us from Dragonstone and threw us to the streets.