Northern lights

105. Funeral pyre

Rosalie sits by Robb's side, her heart heavy with grief and fear. She holds his hand tightly, feeling his warmth slowly fading away. Her fingers trace the familiar contours of his bruised hand, every touch a painful reminder of the time they had shared. It wasn't nearly enough.

Tears stream down Rosalie's cheeks as she looks at her husband's face. His once vibrant and lively eyes are now closed, his strong features now hidden underneath the battle's toll. She can hardly bear to see him like this, so broken and vulnerable.

"I can't lose you again, Robb," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't bear being this useless, just waiting for the gods to have mercy on us as you are growing weaker."

Her mind drifts back to the time they first met, the whirlwind romance that had blossomed into a deep and passionate love. They had faced wars and death together, but they had always emerged stronger, united by their love for each other.

But now, as she sits by his side, Rosalie knows that their time together is coming to an end. She can feel it in her heart, the inevitable truth that Robb will not survive his injuries. Talking to Arya about the dead and the nothingness she felt in their remains, Rosalie purposefully omitted how the same nothingness comes from Robb too, as if he's been gone this entire time despite his beating heart. And with that realization, a wave of despair washes over her.

"I don't know how to go on without you," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "You've been my rock, my anchor. Losing you will leave me adrift." Pressing her lips onto the back of his hand, she sniffles. "Your family and kingdom depend on you. We were meant to protect them together. Don't make me do this alone. I don't want to do it alone."

Rosalie clings to Robb's hand as if holding on could somehow stop time, as if her love could miraculously heal his wounds or activate some primal magic in her blood to come to their aid. But she knows that it's a futile hope, and the pain of losing him all over again is excruciating.

They were supposed to grow old together, to rule the North side by side, to watch their children come into their own and flourish. But now, those dreams are slipping away, leaving Rosalie feeling lost and broken.

As she sits there, the weight of her emotions threatens to overwhelm her. Anguish, regret, and love intertwine in her heart, forming an intricate tapestry of emotions. She wants to scream, to cry out at the injustice of it all, but she can't find the strength. There's none left in her. She may be alive, but she's not among the living.

In the midst of her pain, Rosalie feels Jaime's presence behind her. She knows he's there, ready to offer his support, but she can't bring herself to turn and face him. Not now, not when her heart is breaking.

"I wish for us to have more time," she whispers, her voice filled with desperation. "I won't ever forgive you for dying."

But there's no response, no sign that Robb hears her or wants to argue with her threatening statement. The silence is deafening, a cruel reminder that he's slipping away, to somewhere she can't follow.

Rosalie clings to his hand, her tears falling freely now. She knows that she can't change the course of fate, that she can't bring him back from the brink of death. All she can do is hold on to the precious moments they have left, to tell him how much she loves him, and to say goodbye in case he leaves this world while she attends the funeral pyre.

"Rosalie", Jaime's voice is low, gruff. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he gives her a reassuring squeeze. "It's time."

Nodding meekly, she bows her head before her husband once more, heaving as the thought of leaving him now evokes panic in her throat.