Robb had not died the way he wanted to die. It should have been a valiant death during battle or one of old age, surrounded by his loved ones. It should never have been like this, on the ground with arrows sticking out of him, betrayed. But then again, he should never have been a snake either. And even in a peaceful, quiet place like this Robb Stark feels restless. At least they have given him his legs back, his skin and a normal face, yet the thing he wants most, a beating heart, is not a part of all this.

When Bard arrives Robb finds himself right there between a foolish sort of happiness and a heavy sort of sadness.

“You died way too quick, Bard.” Robb crouches down next to him, his arms resting on his elbows. “That is quite unlike you.”

The smile around his lips is a bit of a melancholic one.