Lord Robb Stark
The war continued, Robb wanted it to end, wanted to scream into the night for it to end. The war had cost him a lot. His brother was a prisoner, his home was under the control of a man he had thought his friend, and most painfully, his wife and unborn child had died, murdered by men he had thought allies. Robb had killed those men, and then found his friends being killed in turn by men who were sworn to him. He had killed them, and then found himself battling unrest within his own army. It was over now, and his men were marching behind him once more, but he was tired, by the old gods and the new was he tired. He wanted nothing more than to go home and to rest, but there were many things needed done before he could do that. He needed to deal with the Lannister army, and Joffrey, he needed revenge, the thing he had come south for.
The horses marched in order, the foot soldiers marched as well. Everything was quiet and solemn, they were experiencing dark times, things were progressing, but Robb knew they could not suffer a defeat here, he might have won every single battle he had fought, but facing rebellion from within his own army was a bitter pill to accept, it made him feel as if he was breaking inside, as if he had failed. The image of Eddard Stark often flashed into his mind on such moments, and he would find himself wondering what his father would think, what he would make of the marriage Robb had made. Then the anger would come, anger of his father dying as he did, of not fighting, of not coming when he had sent the girls, of considering some strange man's children more important than his own. Anger filled him most days, that and a desire to abandon the drink he had touched when his wife and child had died.
Smalljon was at his side, had remained faithful throughout, the Boltons were dead, killed in the fighting, as were many others. They marched slowly and surely through the mass of weeds and growing snow that there was on the ground. Winter was fast approaching, but Robb could not remember a time when he had smiled or laughed, every breath was laboured, his will to live was measured not in the passing of days, but rather in the number of men he killed, or sent to their deaths. Robb ached for the embrace of his wife, for the moments they would spend in the sun contemplating what the future held for them. That was gone, it had been taken from him, as had many other things. The north was a distant dream for him now, he simply wanted to sleep, but sleep he knew would not come, there would be much more to come for him before he was allowed a moment of rest.
In a way, he supposed it was his punishment, he had led so many northmen to their deaths in pursuit of a goal he did not even remember anymore, it was only right that he too suffers the consequences. As the sounds of horns came, the sounds of men exchanging blows, Robb nods, a grim smile on his face. Perhaps now he might get some sort of relief. They move, the pace being set, quickly they move onwards, dancing through the tracks of a thousand other little things. His sword comes out of his scabbard, they move, and they crash, dancing through poles of light and darkness. His brain moves, he moves, but he does not feel. Men fall, men die, men break, and men scream, but he feels nothing, he does nothing, he is nothing. Hopelessness grips him, he continues fighting, his body moving automatically, nothing more to it. Robb takes one blow and then another blow, and another. The pain is almost constant, thrumming through him, but he soldiers on, doing what he can to keep going.
Lannister men are preventing their attempt to make it back home, that is something that angers him, who are the Lannisters to tell him what he can and cannot do, they do not even hold King's Landing, Stannis Baratheon does, they have no more authority here. He drives his point home through the swing of a sword, the ending of another person's life. More bodies fall to the ground, there is chaos all around, there is more than death here, there is the ending of precious lives, his conscious decides that that is the moment to make its way through to him, he screams and shakes, trying to break free. Nothing comes of it, he shivers and shakes, but his armour holds firm, he swings and fights, men die around him, there is far too much pain, there is not enough to make things easy for him, he keeps going, struggling with everything. Bodies continue to grow around him, the snow is red, deeply disturbed, he shoulders through, Greywind somewhere, he does not know anymore, does not care, he wants to sleep, to sleep and neve wake up, but he keeps going. Fighting, that is all he is now, a fighter, they keep battling through, the armies get smaller and smaller, and they keep fighting.
His horse trips over something, what it is he does not know, but he finds himself moving on instinct, throwing his sword away somewhere into the dirt and snow, loosening off the grips of the saddle, and flying into the air. His horse lands with a thud, and a wheeze, dead soon after. He staggers up, looks for a weapon, punches someone who comes near him, and staggers through, looking for something he is not sure he will find. The fighting keeps going, he feels as though he is nothing, he sweats and swears, his mind races, and there before him is a sight he thought he'd never see, Jaime Lannister broken and dishevelled, being hacked into a million tiny pieces. Robb stands and watches, feeling as though the world is falling apart.