MORAL CODES Motivation
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GOT: P Chapter 24
🕑 Added 2025-10-08 12:17:19 +0000 UTC
Dawn ran across the trampled field. Men pissed, saddled, checked buckles twice. Cooks scraped kettles clean with bits of crust; the smell of tallow and horse hung low.
Rhaenys stepped out of the tent before anyone came to fetch her. Cloak pinned, hair bound, face set to non-chalant. She pass through men toward where Robb Stark stood with Roose Bolton and a few other Lord's. No hurry. Just straight.
The men noticed. Eyes tracked the violet in her gaze, then slid to her hands, then to the long scar at the edge of her sleeve. No one turned a back, just keeping their gaze.
Robb saw her and stopped speaking. He gave her the space of a breath to speak first. She held his eyes and didn't. So he nodded to her.
"My lady," he said.
"Lord Stark," she answered. "A word."
Roose Bolton's pale look flicked between them. He tipped his chin, unreadable, and moved off with the others. The men took the hint and drifted a few paces away, enough to hear their Lord's call, not this talk.
Robb glanced after them, then back. "Do I need to bow to you, Princess Rhaenys?"
A corner of her mouth moved. "I'm no princess, my lord. That little girl died the day they sacked my home." Her tone stayed even. "What you have is....... Rae."
Robb took that in. “You brought my sister back.” He looked down at his hands, raw at the knuckles. “Whatever you call yourself, for that I’m in your debt.”
Rhaenys shook her head. “I didn’t know she was your sister,” she said, a little awkward, honest. “My… friend pulled her clear of a bad night. Lost child, far from safe. That was the whole of it.”
“Still,” Robb said. “She’s here.” He met her eyes. “If my men were rough.....”
“Spare the breath,” she said. “War makes tempers short. I’m not made of glass.”
They walked a few more paces. A rider led mounts by, hooves thudding soft. Beyond the hedges, you could feel the army leaning south, bridles set, bread packed, every piece moving ready.
“Last night,” Robb said, keeping his voice low, “you had more to say.”
Rhaenys stopped. She looked him full in the face. No ceremony in it. “Aye.”
He waited.
“I’m looking for my brother,” she said.
Robb’s brow ticked.
“My only living brother,” she said. “My father’s bastard.” She held his gaze and didn’t blink. “Jon Snow.”
Robb didn’t move. The field sound went on around them bit ringing. He searched her face like it might tell him how to hold this.
Then.
Wings whispered the next second, no fanfare, just pressure in the air and a shadow crossing both of them. I dropped to the ground at her side, little heat rising on me, head level with Robb’s chest from the rise of the field. Men within twenty paces turned as one. A few hands tightened on spear shafts. One horse stamped.
Rhaenys’s palm slid to the top of my head, fingers pushing lightly between my crown feathers. “What’s wrong, Vel?”
I kept my eyes on the Young Wolf. Calm boy. Tired around the edges. Smells like a little fear held tight where it belongs. I can work with that.
Robb didn’t step back. He didn’t reach, either. Good instincts. “Is that the one my sister spoke of?” he asked, eyes never leaving me.
“Yes,” Rhaenys said. “He’s Velmir.”
“And he’s tame?”
“He’s himself,” she said. “He listens when it matters.”
Rhaenys watched me watching him, how I held on Robb a blink too long.
Her voice went flat, almost distant. “He wants to help you.”
Robb looked at her, then at me.
I didn’t move. Heat banked. Waiting.
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