( On most days, Robb Stark does not run—not from any battle, not from anyone—but today's not like most days, and so Robb runs anyway.
He runs until all the air has left his lungs, until his chest bursts with pain and his gasps turn desperate, and even then, he doesn't stop. There's blood in his hair and on his face, blood from the walking corpses he'd cut through before he'd been overwhelmed by a sudden mass of them, their limp, greying bodies staggering from the shadows two or three at a time, pushing Robb back step after shaky step until he had no choice but to turn and flee. He thought he'd seen the worst of it, truly, but as he races through the city, they seem to come from everywhere, slinking into sight from all around him, grabbing at his cloak and sword with broken, bloodied fingers as he swings by.
The sun set hours ago. Robb can't see where he's going, can't breathe enough to care, so when he reaches the end of the cobblestone street and turns, he barrels right into—something, a girl, nearly knocking her from her feet before he swoops forward reflexively, grabbing her shoulder to steady her. In his panic, he nearly mistakes her for one of the corpses he's running from, but then he sees her face, her clear, blue eyes and smooth skin, and for a second, that panic fades and Robb thinks, I know you.
Instinct rushes to him, then, and Robb's hand finds her elbow—because whether he truly knows her or not, she's alive and so is he, and he won't leave her. ) With me, now.
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He runs until all the air has left his lungs, until his chest bursts with pain and his gasps turn desperate, and even then, he doesn't stop. There's blood in his hair and on his face, blood from the walking corpses he'd cut through before he'd been overwhelmed by a sudden mass of them, their limp, greying bodies staggering from the shadows two or three at a time, pushing Robb back step after shaky step until he had no choice but to turn and flee. He thought he'd seen the worst of it, truly, but as he races through the city, they seem to come from everywhere, slinking into sight from all around him, grabbing at his cloak and sword with broken, bloodied fingers as he swings by.
The sun set hours ago. Robb can't see where he's going, can't breathe enough to care, so when he reaches the end of the cobblestone street and turns, he barrels right into—something, a girl, nearly knocking her from her feet before he swoops forward reflexively, grabbing her shoulder to steady her. In his panic, he nearly mistakes her for one of the corpses he's running from, but then he sees her face, her clear, blue eyes and smooth skin, and for a second, that panic fades and Robb thinks, I know you.
Instinct rushes to him, then, and Robb's hand finds her elbow—because whether he truly knows her or not, she's alive and so is he, and he won't leave her. ) With me, now.