The only people in the room save for himself were the maids ordered to aid Lyanna. Howland Reed stayed outside the door, granting him the ability to speak with his little sister alone.
Ned burst through the door without warning, scaring the maids in the process. When his eyes locked on Lyanna he took a few strides forward, staring at her with eyes full of sadness, resting the bloody Dawn at the foot of her small bed. He took a seat by her side and begged the Old Gods for at least a few more minutes.
"Lyanna," he whispered. The sound of her slow, laboured breath washed over his ears and her grey eyes were barely opening. There's not much time left, he knows...
"Ned? Is that you?" Her frail hand lifted with an obvious quiver. Without thinking he grasped it, his calloused thumb massaging her soft palm with a gentle touch. "Is that really you? ...you're not a dream?"
"No," he chuckled sadly. "I'm not a dream." He let go of his hold and allowed her to graze his features with her digits, never minding the blood that coated them. "I'm here, with you. Right here, little sister."
A smile brightened her radiant face. "I've missed you, big brother." It was at that moment that his heart broke. He felt the dull sting of tears well up at the corners of his eyes. "I've missed you so, Ned..."
"I've missed you, too, Lya." He looked down, staring at the dismal sight. Blood. There was blood all over her. All over the sheets, the bed, her clothes, the sopping wet rags on the tiny table, her hands, her forehead, even, and now his face had crimson on the cheeks and his thumb was coated with her life force, the wetness soon drying and rolling off his digit when he rubbed the substance with his pointer finger. The rank stench of it permeated the room, filling his nostrils with the scent of death.
He looked back to her pale face, the tears freely streaking the sides of her cheeks, wetting the already-dried marks.
"I want to be brave, Ned. I want to..." He placed his finger on her lips, shushing her for just a moment.
"You are," he replied, trying his hardest to smile for her. "You're the bravest person I know. You've always been..." Just please, please don't leave me. Not like this, please, gods, not like this.
"I'm not." She pressed. "I'm not brave. I don't want to die..."
Please, gods, please be merciful. Please...
"You're not going to die," he asserted, tears already forming in his eyes and threatening to fall, feeling guilty for blurting it even though he knew the truth. He faced one of the maids in desperation, his voice matching the panic he felt inside. "Get her some water!"
"No, no water..." She objected, but his second question drowned out her small voice.
"Is there a maester?"
"Listen to me, Ned," she cried, placing her cool hand on his face. She whispered in his ear as she began. "Her name is Visenya. If Robert finds out, he'll kill her...you know he will," she sobbed quietly. "You have to protect her, Ned. Please...please...promise me, Ned. Promise me..."
Lyanna knew that Ned would do anything for her, even if it meant smudging his honour by raising her child as his bastard. Even if it meant disgracing himself and tarnishing his reputation of being honourable. Even if it meant his own wife hating him. Even if it meant losing his life to protect hers. He would risk his life for her, and he had – he almost lost it, too. If it wasn't for his only surviving friend amongst the group, Howland, Ser Arthur Dayne would have been killed him for sure.
Promise me, Ned. His sister murmured like a haunting song, and he repeated over and over that he promised until his mouth felt incredibly parched. The fear had left her eyes then, and she smiled at him for the very last time. He continued promising, softer and softer then, his fingers threaded in the spaces of her own until her hand slowly slipped away from his. He desperately found her bloodied hand again, holding the back of her hand up to his cheek, refusing to believe that she left. No, gods, no. Not like this.
"Lya," he cried, face scrunched up while his lip trembled. His head bowed, salty tears rolling from his cheeks down to her bloodstained hand, lightening the deep red hue. "Lya...Lya, no...no, Lya, please..."
He didn't know how long it was that he just sat there, rocking back and forth with her hand in his. He didn't know when he pressed his forehead against hers. He didn't know when his head started pounding or when he started to feel so tired. His sister, his beloved sister, left him, and she left him in charge of a small, innocent Targaryen babe. The world was so cruel, he thought, and the gods were cruel. He wished that he could turn back time and just live life as the happy, carefree child he was, with the happy, sweet family he once had. Why...
One of the maids, who he found out later went by the name Wylla, had passed him the little girl, all bright-eyed and sweet of face, gentle and hands shifting uncontrollably about her sides. She didn't cry, but she did sleep peacefully in his arms. The little girl, with empyreal purple eyes and hair as dark as his own...
Promise me, Ned.
He stared back at Lyanna. Her familiar grey eyes were closed, the strain of birthing the little babe and the pains of the fever that took her vanished from her face. Her hand released the winter roses Rhaegar gave her what felt like so long ago; the petals black and brittle.
"You have to call her something else." The male voice was Howland's, but Ned felt as if he heard him through a tunnel, barely registering him. He turned slowly to the crannogman, tears still pouring from his eyes while he stared down at the little girl before him. "She will not live long if she has a Targaryen name."
You have to protect her, Ned. Please...
"Lynara." He muttered through his heavy sniffles. It was the first name in his mind. He found it strange that he did not immediately give this girl his mother's name. Instead, he chose the name of a distant relative, Lord Cregan's wife. "Her name is...Lynara." Ned cradled Lyanna's daughter closely, his harsh cries tearing through his chest once more.
I'm doing the best I can, I swear. I swear I'm trying my hardest, Lya...
The pain of the memory weighed heavily, especially as he knocked on her door and saw the young girl who looked so much like his little sister that it broke his heart.
Daresay she was excited? She nearly felt her heart beating out of her chest and it made her come to terms with the reality: Soon she was to be wed. Not just to a random lord, but to Robb. Robb, the little lordling, she always called him jokingly. The heir to Winterfell. She sighed, falling back onto her bed. This feels so surreal. It felt like the first time in her life that she had something that she truly wanted.
Her thoughts left when she heard a stern knock on her door.
"Yes?" She called. "Who is it?"
"Lyn. It's me." It was her uncle. Hurriedly, she rose to open the door. He already had his foot in the door when he asked, "may I come in?" She stepped aside, granting him entrance.
"I was told by a maid that it was bad luck to see a man of any sort on your wedding day, you know," Lynara joked, but Ned just sat down next to her with a large smile on his face.
"I assure you, my presence will not curse you," he held her hand, his grin dimming. He wrapped his arm around her thin shoulders. "How do you feel?"
Her head bobbed from side to side before she responded. "Nervous, excited, as if I don't deserve this," she admitted, "but overall I am happy."
"As you should be." Ned gave a simple nod. "I just wanted to check on you."
His eyes trailed, peering everywhere until they landed on her table, the half-opened, thick book on the topic of the stars the object of his sight. He stood up to finger through the books blankly, and Lynara felt a tinge of weariness in her chest.
"Tell me true, Uncle," she looked at him with a face of sadness and slight reservation, contemplating whether or not she should truly ask. "how do you truly feel of this? Do you really approve?"
He faced her, placing the book down with a thud, the pages briefly moving with the shift of air. For a small moment, Ned's eyes were sombre. He sat down next to her once more and she briefly felt her pulse in her hand as he squeezed. "I do, and I don't," he said finally, much to Lynara's dismay; her gaze fell to the floor, to his feet. "I will tell you that it is reminiscent of your grandparents, my parents. They were raised here together, you know, and their marriage was largely political. At least to everyone else it seemed that way. But they both had the same intimate bond you share with Robb."
"So it wasn't just duty…" Lynara said slowly. Ours developed from a promise, mostly. She stopped. "What was your mother like? You have never spoken of her."
For that, he gave her a thoughtful look. "I don't remember much. I was fostered in the Eyrie at a young age, but after my mother died, my father was…quiet. Even more so than usual, really." He stared straight in front of him, but his gaze soon lowered. "The one thing that stays with me to this day is when I was searching for my father to ask him a question a day after her passing, and I found him in the godswood crying. It was…it was the first and last time I've ever seen him cry."
"I can only imagine the pain he felt." She didn't know what else to say.
"Listen, Lyn. Whether I agree with your marriage or not, my thoughts do not matter, so don't be discouraged. You are to be the Lady of Winterfell, and your husband the Lord. Here you'll raise little sons and daughters...and no matter what path you choose I will always be proud of you."
"Even if I raise my daughters to wield swords and wear armour?"
"Even still." He seemed to have hesitated when he added, "Lya would have loved to see that."
They both felt an incredible amount of sadness at the small statement, and they simply sat there, wordless. She didn't know her, but her story was terribly sad and she knew just how much her uncle loved her.
The quiet made her go back to the times when she was restless as they travelled the Northern lands. While those with them went to sleep, she stayed up with Ned and he'd tell her fantastic stories - like that of Bran the Builder and how Aegon conquered Westeros on the back of his bold, feared dragon, Balerion. On the way back home, he told her tales that they both thought were silly, like those of the Others and the Night's King.
"You've been around Old Nan for too long, Father," she remarked, and she never forgot the odd expression that briefly crossed his features. But as soon as it appeared, he'd chuckle a little and rustle her hair.
"Go to sleep, Lyn," he said. "We will hunt tomorrow. I will give you the bow and arrow to practise."
For the life of her, she never understood why he had that look...
A question nagged her. "If I may ask, my Lord, why didn't you legitimise me?"
Grey eyes boring into their purple counterparts, Ned paused and sighed before answering. He leant forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands folded.
"Legitimisation is not a casual action, Lyn. All it would do is cause even more problems between us all. I don't know how Cat would have treated you and quite frankly, I don't want to know." He stopped again. "This marriage is good, which is partly why I approve of it - not just for the realm, but it's easier for me to conceal your true identity without asking for Robert's intervention. He's quite taken with you...which is what I feared. I don't want more attention on you, not from him...but with this, you can be made a Stark and no one will bother you."
"Protection." She nodded. "I understand."
"You know that if you become a Stark through marriage you will be better off." He shifted so that she felt the familiar comfort of his arm on her shoulder. "I want to keep you here so you won't be in danger. I love you, Lyn."
"I love you, too, my Lord," she whispered. He rose and turned his back to exit but Lynara stopped him by tugging on the hem of his jerkin. "I have always appreciated everything you've done for me."
He turned to embrace her, placing his hand on the small of her back to pull her closer. She heard the loudness of his heart, the slow, steady beat rhythmically thrumming against his chest.
There was another knock on her door, loud and frantic. Their eyes went to the noise.
"My Lady?" The voice asked. A maid. "May I braid your hair for the ceremony?"
"I will see you soon," he remarked, letting go without another word. He opened the door and the maid had her head bowed, acknowledging Ned as he departed. Lynara nodded, watching her uncle leave.
"I must braid your hair, my Lady," the maid told her, and the silence between them allowed her to think once more, her mind going back to her memories. She then realised that it was terribly painful to live a lie for so long.
Promises...the burden he felt...
The kindly maid that braided her hair left her alone and all it did was make her heart beat faster in anticipation. The night was fast approaching and so was the ceremony. Soon she'll be led down to the godswood, to pledge her heart to Robb, to bind her soul to his with the Gods' permission.
She would have preferred her typical breeches and leathers, but she was fitted in an elaborate purple dress, made to show off every curve she had. Something that matches the colour of your eyes, my Lady, the two maids that helped her in the dress told her. Something that will make the young lord see your beauty.
Oh... She put her hand on her chest. My heart won't stop racing. Why is it so hard to maintain control?
Along with the anticipation, a considerable amount of doubt and anxiety set in.
It's for the best, she reassured herself. Even Lord Stark agrees.
Her door swung open and Lynara rolled her eyes before grinning. "Hello, Arya," she sang, not bothering to turn around. She no longer heard the pitter-patter of footfalls; she instead heard a loud sigh.
"How did you know it was me?"
"No one barges in my room except you." Lynara finally turned around, facing her little sister. Arya gasped in response, eyeing her up and down. "Literally, no one."
"So it's true, then? What Father told us?"
"Yes," she replied. "How do you feel about it, little wolf?"
"I don't know," Arya answered truthfully. "Yeah, well...only a dumbass-"
"Arya." She had to stop herself from chuckling. Don't encourage it.
"-sorry. Idiot-wouldn't have known. Everyone that saw Robb dance with you during the feast should have gotten the hint." Her hand gently landed on her skinny leg. Lynara felt like blushing. Even she didn't notice... "Are you happy?"
Lynara stared at Arya quizzically. "Of course I am."
"That's great, Lyn. That's all that matters." Arya's gaze held her in place before she continued. "Mother won't be attending."
Her heart dropped and a strange feeling radiated from the pit of her stomach. "No?"
Arya shook her head, the brown locks swishing. "She's barely talking to Father."
"I don't want to cause a rift..." Though I always have. "But I figured when we were eating this morning. She took her food to her chambers, I think. She wants nothing to do with me, really."
"She'll get over it." Arya rolled her eyes. "She won't have a choice. She can't be mad forever. That's just stupid."
"Well," she uttered mournfully, "she has been mad at me all my life, all for something that I couldn't control."
"I know, and that was all for nothing, wasn't it?" To that, Lynara nodded.
"It's not out of the realm of possibility for her to hate me even more now." Arya sighed again and Lynara showed her a sideways smile. "...Arya. Do you trust me?"
"Trust you?" She snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Aside from Father, who do I trust more than you?"
She kissed her forehead and rustled her hair after shooting her a grin. "All of this...it's for a good reason, Arya. Trust me."
"It has to be if Father approved of it."
"I agree," she smiled. "It's best for everyone."
"I should go, though I don't want to," she admitted, rising. She had her hand on the doorknob when she twisted her head to glance at her sister. "Lynara?" Arya ran back to hug her. "You look...beautiful."
The dress was a little tight, but she picked Arya up and swirled her around, kissing her squarely on both of her cheeks. "And you're always beautiful, Arry. I'll see you at the ceremony."
Arya Stark deserved the world, Lynara thought. She deserves a gift worthy of her.
Robb was the most nervous one of them all, even though he knew he had nothing to worry about. But even still, his hands shook in anticipation and he could feel the sweat drip from every pore. He wiped his hands against his breeches, breathing deep to stay as calm as possible. Even still, he played with his fingers.
Robb's eyes scanned the area. Mother's not here, he thought with a sigh. He wondered if there was a way to get her to understand. Or perhaps she never will. He felt hopeful when she started to warm up to Lynara when the "truth" came out, but all of that disappeared when Robb told his father of his ambitions.
Minutes seemed to turn into hours to Robb as he anxiously to see his father to give away Lynara. He peered around to search for his mother but gave up when he saw no trace of her familiar blue eyes or thick auburn hair. He saw Bran standing with little Rickon's hand in his and wild Arya holding a torch, a few of his father's closest friends that lived in Winterfell, and his uncle Benjen with an imperceptible look on his face…but he couldn't see his mother. He stopped seeking her after he realised that she was here.
Finally, his impatient, all too eager mind thought. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Ghost pad up to the side of the heart tree, sitting beside his brother Grey Wind.
When his eyes landed on her, his breath hitched in his throat. Even in the low light, he could tell that she wore a light purple gown, with white laces in the front. The sleeves stopped midway, sheer fabric flowing freely and gently hanging, white trims at the ends of her sleeves, and the bottom of her dress pooled around her ankles. She could look amazing in anything, couldn't she? He asked himself. It was simple and he appreciated that. He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.
As he stared at her approaching figure, Robb reminded himself of the promise he told her in what felt like a lifetime ago. You'll be a proper Stark, just like me. The words rang in his ears as if it was said in front of him. He was happy and surprised when his father granted permission for such a thing to happen. It was, truly, the happiest he had ever felt.
A small smile touched upon Robb's lips, only widening as the realisation hit him. This is happening. It's not a dream.
"Who comes? Who comes before the Gods this night?"
It was then that he heard his father's strong voice, booming and confident. "Lynara Snow comes here to be wed. She is a woman grown and she comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
Robb stood up straight, quietly clearing his throat and his hands dropping to his sides. "Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell and the North, comes to claim her. Who is it that gives her?"
"Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, gives her," he responded, slipping his arm away from hers so she could walk to her new husband. Me. "Lynara Snow-" All pairs of eyes landed on her expectantly, "-do you take this man?"
She reached out and held his hands in hers, looking up at him with the purest of love and devotion. "I take this man," she gave him a relaxed, pleased nod, her eyes trained on his own. Gods, you're so beautiful, Lyn.
Robb threw his cloak over Lynara, officially making her a Stark. His promise came true.
With their hands still together, he bent down to capture her delicate lips. Oh, how lovely it felt knowing that they didn't have to hide.
He felt the same pang of electricity and warmth that he did the first time, and a grin spread across his rosy lips. Soon after they prayed to the gods, falling to their knees with their hands clasped together. Bliss. Love. Ecstasy. There were many different things he was feeling the moment the two of them locked gazes again, and he couldn't help but notice the way her eyes sparkled, even in the dim light of the many flames.
He was in love - he was deeply in love. To hell with my mother's dissatisfaction.
After all was said and done, Ned firmly held his hand on Robb's shoulder. When Robb looked up, he saw the kindest smile on his face.
They were surrounded by people. Despite the amount of coin and food that went into the last major feasts with King Robert and his company, Ned decided to have one for Robb and Lynara, too. It is in light of your wedding, he said. All must partake in the celebrations.
"This dress is ridiculous," Lynara huffed, running her hands up her arms. "It's too tight. I feel like I'm suffocating."
"Ridiculous? It's simple!" Robb argued. "And tomorrow you'll be out of that and in your normal attire. You know, breeches and men's clothes. Whatever you want."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Robb. You know me..." She gave him a half-smirk. "I can move around in those clothes. I feel more comfortable."
"Good," he smiled. "You should be."
"What do you think of this dress, anyway?" She asked curiously. "You haven't told me yet."
"It matches your eyes, Lyn. Your eyes are beautiful."
Her heart squeezed. Lynara placed her hand on his arm and stroked it. He faced her, planting a kiss squarely on her left cheek, then on her lips.
"Later," he rasped in her ear, and soon he pulled away to speak with those who approached the raised platform for the nobles, who gave the two of them endless words of congratulations and well-wishes from what she could make out of all the commotion.
Lynara sat for what felt like hours, eyes occasionally moving to find Robb or Arya, or her father.
"What of Mother, Father?" Lynara heard Robb ask, but looked everywhere but at them. She felt nothing but guilt for her non-appearance.
"She doesn't want to come down. I tried to talk to her about it, but you know how stubborn your mother could be." She heard her uncle sigh. "I wish it weren't so."
"She doesn't want to see me happy…" She could almost feel the disappointment coming from him. His hand searched for hers, the fingers threading through her empty spaces. "Why is she like this?" His hold tightened in desperation. Lynara placed her free hand under the table, covering his own. She looked down; his knuckles were so pale…she squeezed in an effort to calm him, which seemed to have worked. His eyes met hers and she could see the deep pain that emanated from them. Oh, Robb…
"Robb. She does, and she'll come around. Just give her some time." She wondered if he was shaking his head like she imagined him to be. Suddenly, Ned was before Lynara, and she looked up to meet him.
"I hate to leave your feast, but I'm going to speak with your Uncle Ben." Lynara took her hand off her face and sat up in excitement.
"I know you want to see him, but it is getting late. The feast is over." He smiled. "I'll make sure he talks to you tomorrow before he takes his leave." With that, she nodded and he departed. It wasn't soon after that everyone rose and began to shuffle out of the Great Hall. It was late, they've had too much wine and ale, and now it was approaching the time for their bedding.
She saw a figure fluidly sauntering across the space of the door. She almost thought that it was Ghost, only to realise that the figure was too tall and skinny, and both Ghost and Grey Wind rested near her feet, both chewing on chicken legs. Instead, it was Lady Catelyn, staring at her harshly with her eyes full of hatred and disgust, arms folded in on themselves. They held gazes for what felt like a few minutes, but when she blinked, Lady Stark was gone. Was I imagining things? Perhaps I drank too much ale? She tried to shrug it off, but for some reason, she wasn't able to for a long time.
"Did you see something?" Lynara faced him quickly. The upset and the disappointment was written all over his features, but his eyes were full of concern.
"I think so…"
She couldn't shake her image from her mind. Not until Robb extended a hand next to her, cornflower blue eyes gleaming with amusement and love. "Forget about it. Come with me; it's time."
"Yes, Lyn. Time." She took his hand and with his support, she rose from her chair. "Ready?"
Both Ghost and Grey Wind watched them as they began to leave, the bones that they were chewing on in pieces on the floor.
The way to Robb's chambers seemed to take more time than usual. Perhaps it was merely her excitement to finally be with him, or perhaps it was all the beer she had, but in all actuality, she couldn't be too sure. Robb helped her out of the dress, revelling in her beauty, and she helped him take off all his clothes until they stood before each other, as naked as their name-days.
Lynara looked up at him. His expression was intense, so much so that it made her shiver, but she knew he wasn't angry. Robb pulled her to him, closing the distance, covering her mouth in a hungry kiss that she had never had from him before. She could strongly taste the mead on his breath, and a slight hint of mutton and all she could do was moan in his mouth, tongues dancing with each other. There they stood, just kissing, only pulling away to beg for sweet cool air.
"By all the gods, Lyn," the smoke of their breath bound themselves to each other. He bent to her, leaning his forehead against hers, raising her hand up while their fingers were threaded in each other's spaces. "Are you ready?" It was the same question he asked earlier.
"I'm ready," she replied again, and she saw the grin on his face. Finally, he opened his eyes, walking her backwards until she nearly fell onto the bed, staring up at him expectantly. "Robb…"
"Lynara." He bared her down on the bed, kissing her until she could see stars, loving her until she gasped his name.
The blonde-haired maid urged her to lay down on the bed, which was covered with rose petals as dark as the night. With the blood and watery substance running down her legs, she had no choice but to obey her. Doubled over in pain, Lynara inched to the bed and laid down, tears running down her face. The strong scent of roses hit her, as well as how cold the petals were against her bare skin.
"My Lady, I need you to push!" The maid urged, encouraging her to breathe and then push again. Lynara's screams of pain were loud, and she was begging for Robb to be with her, to at least hold her hand, but he never came. No one came.
It felt like hours when the babe was born, but no sound was made like she expected. Arya, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon all cried, she knew, so why hadn't hers? She didn't understand it.
A silence filled the room, one that lasted for many minutes. The maid barely moved when Catelyn entered, taking a hard look at the child before her.
"My babe, where is my babe? Is he-"
"He was...monstrous," Catelyn cut her off. "Ugly. Deformed. Twisted. Grotesque." She walked slowly to Lynara. "He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small like those of a baby dragon. Whatever the creature was that came from your womb, it certainly was not human."
"What are you talking about, my Lady-"
"Look at it." The maid that delivered the babe placed the child in her arms and Catelyn gave her a hard stare, as chilling as she had always remembered it to be. Lynara lowered her eyes to see him and saw exactly what she had described: A boy, wrapped in a small blanket, with purple scales at the ends of his tail and his little wings. His wings covered his twisted back and he lay in silence with his hands balled and up to his face.
In a pang of sadness, she held the little bundle close, weeping. "No, no...no..." She sobbed.
"Don't cry, bastard. I told Robb it would be a mistake to marry you, much less get you with child, but Robb never listened to me. He never has." The tone of her voice only mocked, her eyes squinting and cold. "I have only heard of Targaryens birthing such monstrosities." Catelyn gripped her arm and yanked her closer to her face. "Who are you? What are you?"
Lynara could then feel the heat of her angry breath on her face. She whimpered in fear, eyes wide opened and begging her to calm down.
"WHAT ARE YOU?" Catelyn screamed, her hold tightening with each word.
Lynara was so distraught and full of fear that she sat straight up in bed with a scream on her lips.
Lynara woke up in a cold sweat and glanced around the room. It was beginning to brighten outside; dawn is fast approaching, but it's too early to go to the armoury. Her hands then went to her thigh and she felt around. No moisture. Suddenly she felt a body shift and an arm snake around her body, pulling her to their chest. She gasped, struggling to maintain a steady breath.
"Shit. Lyn, Lyn, it's me...are you okay?"
Robb. It's Robb. My husband... Her body was itching to go outside and calm her rattled nerves, but Robb's warmth was enough to relax her for a minute. His free hand brought her head to his broad chest. She struggled to maintain a steady breath, clutching him as tightly as she could.
"No," she nearly cried, "I am not okay."
"It was a nightmare." He said it as if it weren't a question, but Lynara nodded anyway. "Care to talk about it?"
"No," she shook her head. "I don't want to relive it."
"I'm here for you if you need me." His tired voice was the most soothing sound she had ever heard. "I promise."
"Thank you, Robb." She wanted to smile but the nightmare made her tremble terribly, filling her mind with awful images. Silent tears ran down her cheeks and onto his chest and she could barely breathe. Robb pulled away just to hold her face.
"Hey, you'll be fine. It was just a bad dream, I promise." He kissed her on the lips, pulling away while his hands were on either side of her cheeks. "Your fear will pass." Another kiss, this time deeper and more meaningful. He drew her to his body again. "It will. Let's go back to sleep, alright?"
She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She didn't want to have that nightmare again. Lynara held Robb closer as he laid down with her, and Robb ran his fingers through her brown hair until he slowly fell asleep.
All Lynara could do was bury her face in Robb's neck and pull the furs up to her face. Rest wouldn't come. Not for a long time.