𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ

As it turned out, being imprisoned in total darkness became boring very, very quickly.

Sleep, unfortunately, was out of the question, as anything beyond a light doze had Robb's muscles relaxing so much he ended up hanging solely from his wrist. The pain always jolted him back to consciousness immediately. Pain, however, was distracting for only so long before one became adjusted to it.

To keep his mind from spiralling—there was nothing he could do about Merry and Pippin’s death, and no way to escape; agonising over it would not help—Robb started to sing to himself. It began with a soft tapping of his free hand against the wall before he started to hum and then, after a time, to sing. First came songs he had heard recently, at the war camp, at Riverrun, at home. The Bear and the Maiden Fair came to mind, as well as The Dornishman’s Wife. Next he remembered The Rains of Castamere, and discarded it just as quickly. No, better to search for other songs.

Sansa had always loved Florian and Jonquil, but Robb found he could not remember all the words. His free hand hit the wall harder in frustration and he closed his eyes to ward off the tears. He would never see his sister again. What would happen when the memories of her faded, as well? If he could not remember the words to her favourite song, how long until he forgot her favourite food, her favourite colour? When would her face be erased from his mind? Suddenly, alone in the darkness, Robb missed her terribly.

In truth, he missed all of his siblings most of the time. That had been a constant even before his death. After years of seeing them every day, suddenly being alone had hurt like a dagger to the heart—and he would know. Jon had gone his own way, and though the pain of missing him was still there, Robb had always respected that. No, it was the violent way everyone else had been taken from him that had truly destroyed him.

Bran and Rickon he had thought safe (just like—no, don't think of them now) even after he had gone to war. Here, alone in this dark cell, Robb could finally admit to himself that their death had not been his fault. Yes, he had sent Theon away, given him the opportunity to betray him, but how could Robb have known? Theon’s actions were his own. He had always been insistent on that, proud of it, even. Theon had been beside him in battle, where Robb’s death would have been unfortunate but not surprising. If Theon's hatred for him and his family had run that deep, he could have ended it all there. Why hadn't he? Why had he taken it out on his youngest, most innocent siblings instead?

Robb still could not understand it. His trust had been misplaced so often that he had to wonder whether Theon had always been plotting against them and Robb had just been too blind to see it.

Still. Even if Robb had made Bran and Rickon’s murder possible, that did not mean it was his fault.

But thinking of Sansa and Arya made his guilt and anger return in full force. He had refused to trade Jaime Lannister for them, and the other lords had agreed with his decision, but what difference had it made in the end? Thanks to his mother, Robb had lost him anyway, and Sansa and Arya had remained out of reach. Robb should have exchanged them for the Kingslayer. So what if his allies would have betrayed him for it? They had done that anyway. As it was, Lannister had gotten away and Robb had been murdered, yet his sisters had remained as hostages. Getting Arya and Sansa released for the same price seemed like a good trade to him.

Robb had spent enough time wallowing over his decisions these past few weeks to pinpoint all of his mistakes. Killing Lord Karstark had been one of them, although he did not know what else he should have done. Marrying Jeyne had been another, the biggest one, no matter how much he felt for her. Breaking his word to the Freys. Trusting Theon, trusting Bolton, believing everyone to be as honourable as his lord father had been. He doubted changing just one of his actions could have changed the outcome, no. Tywin Lannister’s influence was too strong for that; his mind too shrewd, his gold too tempting. But that just meant Robb was right to believe he could have freed his sisters as well.

Alas, the past was the past. It could not be changed. All Robb could do now was learn from his mistakes, so he would never repeat them.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Robb sighed softly, and began to hum the tune to Jenny of Oldstones.

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Bit of a shorter chapter today, only because the next one really didn't fit thematically and is like three times as long so so I split the two.

Anyway you know the spiel: sorry for not updating, Baldur's Gate 3 ate my brain (ha.)
The next chapter will be up soon. ish. probably. lmao