brickbybrick | open rp post!

[The first week Robb had spent with her not living in Heimdall had been met with elation. Arya barely knew how to cook but she'd made a passable dinner, she thought. Jon had taught her some of the things he'd learned on the wall and out in the world in general. It wasn't all just cooking, of course. He'd made her keep her room clean too, when he'd been there. She still needed to work on that, however. Sitting down with Robb for their little makeshift meal, Arya suddenly remembers the last time they'd ever really eaten a meal together with their whole family. The King and Queen had come to Winterfell with their children. It gives her an idea.

Playfully, she scoops up some lumpy potatoes, timing her spoon so he's not looking and aims straight for him when she lets it go and sends the food flying in his direction.]

[Robb can't really bring himself to believe that his life has come to this, sometimes. It's almost like a dream, one that he doesn't dare wake up from. Perhaps one day he'll accept this as his reality, though he can't quite do that yet.

Sitting down at a table with his sister, though, that he can do. He's putting away his plate when the food hits him in the back of his head, and oh, really. It's going to take forever to get that out of his hair.

He turns to her, trying to look stern, but he fails to keep the fond amusement from his face.]

What was that for?

[She grins, not even bothering to pretend she's innocent. Nymeria swoops in from under the table to try and lick at whatever fell out of his hair and to the floor.]

Just checking if you're really here, if it'll just go through you.

[Like one of Old Nan's ghosts. He was technically a ghost, if she thought about it but then thinking about it would ruin the mood. Of course she was only joking about the going through him part. She just wanted to fling food for old time's sake. Their mother wasn't there to scold her and Robb was a bit more easy going than that.]

[Well, he sucks at looking stern, he might as well just drop it. He huffs out a laugh. ~~he may be planning his revenge right now~~]

Then I hope this confirms that I really am here. [For both of them.]

[She was glad he wasn't mad about it. She always had an easier relationship with her brothers than she did with Sansa. It was rare any of them made her mad either.]

I think so. Maybe I should try again just to be sure.

[She's kidding of course. Instead of throwing food, she spoons some up to eat.]

I never asked. What was it like? Being a King. Was it fun some of the time? [She does not want to know what it was like for him to die. She saw plenty enough in her wolf's head when she'd pulled their mother out of the river.]

[The smile disappears almost immediately when she asks him what being king was like. Gods be good, why would any man want to be king? he'd asked once, and the question's pushed to the forefront of his mind once more.]

It wasn't exactly fun, most of the time. It was certainly difficult, though.

[She ponders this, thinking to herself how Robb was nothing like Joffrey. He had to have been a good king, even if he'd lost the war, he'd gotten as far as he did, hadn't he?]

Did you get a crown? Like King Robert?

[She didn't want to think of that smug bastard wearing a crown while he probably did awful things to her sister. He was horrible. Sansa had confirmed as much without so many words.]

Her homecoming wasn't quite the affair that she'd thought it would be. Instead of riding victoriously up through the gates at King's Landing and claiming her throne, she had slipped onto the shore during the night, smuggled on land like cargo.

Too many tongues had wagged of the coming of the Mother of Dragons and Daenerys knew that some of those tongues had arms that wielded steel, steel that would pierce her heart and end the line that had gone strong for over three hundred years. She wanted to see what the land was truly like, what those who lived in it truly felt of her return before she attempted to claim a throne that had been usurped before her birth.

Which would be why she was in a tavern along the North road, a cloak and scarf hiding most of her features as she sipped at weak ale that tasted like it had been pissed out by a goat. She'd grown too accustomed to having the finest things, forgetting her poverty and the scraps she'd lived off before.

The bread was dark and as bitter as the beer, hard and tough to chew. She dipped it in the drink to soften it before eating it, hating the taste even though she made herself chew and swallow with a smile on the off chance someone was watching. Someone was always watching, but she was attempting to fit in, not stand out any more than she might already.

The Young Wolf is dead. That had become an accepted fact all over Westeros in the past year--Robb Stark was dead, and with him died the hope of the North. Exactly how he'd died, though, was a matter of heavy dispute: the Freys claimed that he'd turned into a monster and tried to rip them all apart, the northmen protested and said he was a good, just and fair king who'd been betrayed by his own man, and the common folk had a hundred different tales of how it went, depending on who you were talking to. And the singers didn't help, either, with a thousand different songs on the Red Wedding.

The truth, though? The one that no one knew?

Robb Stark woke up after the Red Wedding, somewhere near a small village near the Trident, bleeding from arrow wounds and knife wounds and gods knew what other wounds he had, his memory as fragmented and shattered as broken glass. He'd hauled himself to the nearest inn, and once he'd recovered enough, set out north.

All right, so going north probably wasn't one of his best ideas. After all, winter was coming (and the words were familiar, achingly so), and northern winters were harsh and long. Still, there was something there, he was sure, something from what little he could remember to be found in the north.

And so it was, that he stepped into a tavern along the North road, looking for a place to eat, drink and sleep. The place seemed a little more crowded than usual, the only empty seat near someone wearing a cloak and scarf. It wasn't exactly ideal, considering that there could've been a dagger under that cloak, but he was tired and hungry enough that it made no matter to him.

So he took a seat, unaware of who he was sitting beside.

There had been much Daenerys had heard since coming to Westeros. So many rumors flying around, it was hard to believe that they didn't bear weight, that they didn't pierce flesh or knock heads as they flew overhead. She'd heard of the rumors of the Lannister twins, not too concerned about such things as her lineage had more than its share of the same; remembering how often Viserys had blamed her for being born too late to be Rhaegar's wife, a fact which might have kept him from stealing the Stark girl and bringing the ire of the Starks and Baratheon's down upon them. She also heard rumors of the death of the majority of the Starks, namely the Hand of the King and his son, the one who'd marched against the usurper in retaliation for their abhorrent actions.

Of course, there were also talks of White Walkers and the dead coming back to life, though Daenerys was more open to these being fact as she was the mother of three creatures thought dead and gone from the world herself.

She stiffened when she felt the presence of someone taking the seat next to her, but she held her tongue. Here, she was no queen, no khaleesi. She could be caught and dragged before the usurper and denounced as the one in the wrong. No, it was best if she brought as little attention to herself as possible. It helped that the man seemed not to be interested in bothering her. There was indeed a wickedly curved and sharp dagger beneath the cloak, but her hand didn't reach for the hilt, instead grabbing for another piece of sour bread to dip in the beer.

She didn't get a chance to force it down, though, a pair of men who'd been arguing the table next to her deciding to stand and throw fists. One of them fell back into her, pushing her into the man beside her and making her drop her bread to the floor where it could stay for all she cared. She turned and tried to keep the scarf over her head as she ducked her eyes down to address the man. "I beg your pardon. The jostling was not by my own actions."

He'd have liked to not pay attention to his surroundings, other than the stale bread and piss-poor ale he was like to get with his meager earnings, but the two men looking to brawl with each other and the woman they'd pushed into his side put an end to that hope. He glanced up at her, and nodded.

"I'm fine," he said. "Startled, aye, and thinking that mayhaps I should've gone on to another tavern," and his gaze cut to the two men for a second before he turned back to her, "but otherwise unharmed." He sighed. "Are you all right, though?"

That he'd done more than grunt at her was a hopeful sign. That he hadn't held her at fault was another. She nodded, a polite smile making a home on her face as she nodded, trying to keep her eyes averted from his. The color was a trademark of her family's and it was more difficult than one might think not to have them be noticed. At least she could hide most of her hair under the scarf. "I am, thank you for inquiring."

Those watchful eyes darted to the men who'd tripped over another patron, only this one was much less accommodating for their tussle and had risen to chase them out of the tavern. It might not have worked if the rest of the table, seemingly companions of the irritated man, hadn't risen with him, the fight being dragged outside where it no doubt continued.

Relieved to have had that been removed, she gave the man she'd all but fallen into another half smile. "I don't think you would have found any better or worse at the others, ser. They all seem to be quite full for the evening. At least here you've found yourself a seat."

A shout filled the air before he answered, signaling that, yes, the fight had continued, and apparently it had continued with more than just fists. He sighed, but gave her a slight smile as well. "You're right," he said. "And the ale here tastes slightly better than most."

Considering that most taverns' ale tasted no better than horse piss, though, that wasn't too hard to achieve.

"Are you traveling with anyone else? The roads are far more dangerous now, with some war having just finished and the winter coming on fast."

"No. I hadn't thought that traveling was that dangerous still. The war is over, is it not?" It wasn't true, of course. The war was merely in a respite, likely to flare up again when Daenerys' presence was found out, but for now, there was a calm.

She also wasn't technically alone, though she wouldn't claim the dragons as her traveling companions to anyone who asked. They'd done well in traveling the skies only at night and hiding themselves away during the day. There had been no cries of dragon since her arrival, though there may have been more talk of horses and sheep going missing or the remnants found, charred and blackened and crisped. "And yourself, ser? Are the roads safe for a sole traveler?"

"It is, but I hear there are outlaws still about," he said. "And a pack of wolves that have mustered enough courage to attack people, it would seem."

He'd heard hearsay about the former, that they were led by a dead woman who hanged every Frey and Lannister man they came across, everyone who might've been involved in a slaughter that had happened a year ago. He hadn't encountered them or the wolves yet, and he hoped he never would.

"No, but at least I've a few weapons to fend off whatever danger might come upon me." Granted, they wouldn't do much of anything against something more dangerous than a desperate bandit or two, but they made him feel a little better while he traveled.

"But do you know how to use them? A sword is nothing if the wielder knows nothing of its use." She reached for another piece of bread, breaking it off and dipping it in the ale. "Not to imply that you cannot, ser. Consider it idle curiosity of a dinner companions."

She had heard the same as well, more concerned with the wolves than of a dead woman with a vengeance. Even the wolves were only frightening if they managed to catch her where her dragons could not protect her. Which is why she'd taken to traveling by night, moving along with her children soaring overhead.

"I do know," he answered, and that much was true. Whatever or whoever he'd been before waking up alone and bleeding, a decent swordsman was one of them. "And I know which end to stick in someone especially well." He gave a wry smile, then, before taking some bread for himself, breaking it, and dipping into the ale as well.

He took a bite.

"I take back what I said about their ale," he muttered, making a face. All the same, though, he swallowed--no sense in wasting it, and as bad as it tasted, it still filled his stomach. "And, if I may ask, out of idle curiosity, have you anything that might help against whatever you might encounter while traveling?"

She watched the face he made when he bit into the bread. It made her smile, glad it wasn't just her palate that found it distasteful. Spoiled taste or not, it seemed that the ale and bread really were quite awful.

His question made her smile widen. "I've something sharp and pointy that I know which end to stick in someone if needs be." She didn't mention her 'guard', since it would neither be believed nor a very wise move when trying to not be discovered. "If bandits are wise, they'll let me pass unharmed."

"Would that they all were that wise." He glared at the ale for a moment, as if it had offended him down to his very soul by not living up to his expectations of it being slightly better than the ale most taverns offered, then sighed, dipped another piece of bread in it, and took a bite. Gods, it was awful, but he was hungry. "Sadly, I believe most of them are much more desperate than wise."

Something, he supposed, he could sympathize with. Going north in his state, just before winter descended on Westeros, to look for something he barely even knew? That was just as desperate an act as stealing gold and food off of travelers coming up and down the roads.

"Desperate times, I suppose. Is it sad that a life can be worth less than a few copper they might have hidden away?" She'd seen people killed for less and war often brought out the worst in human nature.

"Which isn't to say, ser, that I have any copper hidden away. I'm but a poor woman traveling by herself, without even a horse to travel with. I can't be worth the effort to rob, can I?"

"Sad, but true. People have been killed for less." Like a broken promise, was the first thought, only--only, how had he known? He let out a breath, his hand coming up to rub at his temples, feeling a slight headache coming on and feeling it dissipate just as quickly as it came.

"From what I've heard, they'll try nonetheless, and for what little you do have." He picked up a piece of bread, and stared at it for a moment, a thought forming in his head. "I've a horse."

She noticed the look of pain that crossed his features, wondering if it was a remembered pain or a new one.

"I'm sure they'd find something to take, whether I wanted to give it or not." The threat of rape was always high for women on the road, alone or not, which was why she preferred to carry her blade on her at all times as well as travel at night on roads where her dragons could intercede if need be. But he mentioned a horse and one silver brow lifted, though she wasn't certain if he was insinuating what she thought he might be or just mentioning it in passing. "You're very fortunate. I'm sure it will get you to where you're going much more quickly."

He huffed out a breath, then looked at her. "It could get you where you're headed faster as well," he said. "Much faster than walking alone, certainly, and a great deal safer if you weren't alone." He paused, then added, "That is, if you're headed north. But if not, it's fine, you can take the horse."

She forgot herself for a moment, turning to look up at him fully as the offer caught her by surprise. "You would offer me your horse?" She wanted so hard to believe he would offer it out of kindness, but Dany was much more jaded now than she'd been before she'd been married off to Drogo. "In return for what, might I ask? The offer is certainly welcome and I am heading north, but you'll have to pardon if I'd prefer to know the particulars before just blindly agreeing."

He looked away for a moment, and nodded. "I would." He dipped the bread back into the ale, bit into it, and swallowed. "Not much. Only to share in what food and drink you can spare for me--I've begun to get sick of sleeping hungry and thirsty."

He paused for a moment, then continued, his voice a little lower, a little rawer, "And only that you help me."

open rp post!

happy au where everything is rainbows go asgard!verse?

GO

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Random made up falderall

is this okay amnesia is just my favorite trope

That's more than fine =)

yay

Poor Robb.

his life sucks

they're a matched pair of sucky lives.

they should form a club: "being royals ain't all it's cracked up to be" club

and now I have 'Lorde-Royals' in my head. thanks =)

and we'll never be royals (rooooyals) except we are and it sucks ass

Nope, you suck. Suuuuuck

wow lady we're trying to be polite here

Sorry, sorry. You suck SER. Better? =)

slightly, it should be "you're awesome your grace"

She'll bend a knee if he does. (all the wrong contexts)

ooooh khaleesi ooooh

They would OWN the entire world if they hooked up

fear us, we've got a big-ass wolf and a bunch of dragons