10 Chapter 7
What she looks like (In the Comment Section)
Akame's Attire (In the comment Section)
Her Katana (In the comment Section)
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The journey to Winter Town was a quite one.
Akame trailed behind Harlan, her silence and slow pace behind was an indication to Harlan that she wasn't much interested in talking. Harlan's gaze would occasionally flicker toward the woman on horseback but wouldn't say anything to her, seeing how peacefully she seemed by reading that journal in her hands. The only sound between them was the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional creak of the wagon.
Her red eyes would flicker across the pages, absorbing the intricate details of the houses. She seemed so immersed in that journal that it looked like the whole world around her had suddenly disappeared from existence and the only thing there was the book to focus on. Although as much attention as she placed on the pages of the book her senses remained keenly attuned to the surrounding woods.
The rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds, and the subtle whispers of the wind were not lost on her vigilant awareness. Despite her absorption in the family tales of Westeros, her training and instincts ensured that she remained alert to any potential threats that might lurk in the shadows.
Aragon, too, seemed to share in her vigilance, occasionally pricking his ears or adjusting his gait at the slightest hint of disturbance.
While reading more of the houses, Akame had found another fascination with another house.
House Stark.
There sigil, a wolf, portrayed in a stylized manner, with a snarling expression and bared fangs.
Their house motto, Winter is Coming.
The Targaryens, she knew, were said to possess the unique gift of controlling dragons, a power that set them apart from the rest of the houses of Westeros. It left her wondering about House Stark. Did they also possess some unique trait or ability. Maybe they can communicate or control Dire wolves or if this fantasy world was to dive into fantasy lore, maybe they were werewolves.
The forest's quiet murmur enveloped Akame as she gazed ahead at Harlan, who was guiding the wagon with an air of calm solitude. Her curiosity about House Stark and the direwolves compelled her to break the silence that had settled between them.
"Harlan," she called out, her voice carrying through the woodland like a gentle breeze.
Harlan, who had been quietly absorbed in his own thoughts, turned around with an amiable expression. "Yes, Milady? Something on your mind?" he inquired, his eyes reflecting a warmth that invited conversation.
Akame reined in Aragon and rode up alongside the wagon, her eyes betraying the depth of her curiosity. "I've been reading about House Stark. What can you tell me about them? Are they known for any particular traits or abilities just like the Targaryen's and their dragons?" she queried; her words laced with a quiet intensity.
Harlan's face went stone cold at the mention of the Targaryen's and dragons. In his brown eyes was a sign of despise and his lips twitched to say something nasty.
Akame had noticed his change and wondered if the Targaryen weren't a likable noble house among their people, like the Romanovs were in Russia in the beginning of the 1900s before that utterly useless Tsar was assassinated in 1918 with his poor family and even the children and ending Romanov monarchy for good.
That useless idiot. Akame thought to herself when the Tsar of Russia, Nicholas Romanov came to her mind.
"You don't seem to happy about the Targaryen's" Akame spoke.
Harlan shook his head. "Not many of us were, especially 17 years ago, not with the Mad King on throne. Thank the Gods, Robert's Rebellion had happened or we would have all been burnt alive. No one was safe under his tyranny not even his own family."
'Corrupt King huh. Just like any other king in history' Akame wondered to herself, not surprised at all. Power really influences people in all sorts of ways. 'And a revolution or rebellion to stop it all. Nothing new.'
"So, what happened to them then? The Mad king and his whole family?" Akame questioned already fascinated by this. She already guessed what probably came about the King yet still wanted to hear it. It was like relearning about the modern history of her world, The World wars, The revolutions. Oh, how she loves listening to anything related to them.
"All slaughtered during the rebellion and even Rhaegar's children and wife. No one was left except for a few who say the youngest prince and princess of the Mad king were able to make it out alive and now being held refuge in Essos somewhere."
The lone soldier listened carefully to Harlan not once diverging her attention away as she took note of every word he said.
"And the dragons? What came of them?" Akame asked.
"They had long been gone even before the Mad King. However, they were once powerful beasts soaring up our skies" when Harlan said that he had rose his head to gaze up the sky as if trying to search for a dragon that may just be up there. "Yet now they are nothing but mere legends. Their very bones lying in the castle of Kings Landing."
Akame saddens at the thought of the Dragon's extinction, how she hoped to see one. A fantasy dragon from movies and books, alive right in front of her. 'I think God sent me in the wrong timeline.'
"What a shame." Akame commented. "One reason why I had come to Westeros was in hopes of seeing a live dragon" she said with a sorrowful tone. Although it may be a lie that she came to Westeros for that purpose but she really did want to see one.
Harlan chuckled. "Not just strong but fearless too."
"If you don't mind me asking, if Robert started rebellion hence the name Robert's Rebellion, did he take the crown?"
The old man nodded. "Robert Baratheon" he murmured softly to himself; his face changed to seem as if he was in deep thought.
'A Baratheon took the throne then. I think that was the one with the Stag symbol.'
"You asked about House Stark, didn't you?" Harlan spoke suddenly, jumping Akame out of her own train of thoughts.
"I did" She nodded her head. "I want to know if they have anything special about them as well. I also want to hear more about the Rebellion as well, if you don't mind continuing on." Akame asked politely, a mixture of fascination and desire in her red eyes that sparked. The thirst for history knowledge no matter how old or young, she was eager to know.
A warm smile crossed the old man's face, his wrinkles forming up as he did. "I will gladly tell you everything I know but I can't promise I will give you much detail about it but I hope it would be enough to keep you satisfied."
Weeks drift by in the journey up North to Winter Town, Akame learnt a lot of things about Westeros from Harlan from her short questions that she would ask once a day due to her introvert persona. She rarely had any social energy to talk to Harlan for more than 30 minutes or she would be drained out completely. So, most of the time Akame was seen sketching in her journal that she found in one of the crates with a wooden tube that looked like a pencil right beside it.
More unexpected gifts from God.
She mostly spent her time drawing in that empty blank journal or quietly gazing up at the sky in her own train of thoughts without any interruption of any sorts.
Harlan would sometimes thrown his own questions from time to time but since Akame knew nothing about Essos would answer him brief short answers.
As the journey meanders into colder territories, Harlan's concern for Akame becomes palpable. The biting chill prompts him to voice his worry about Akame's attire, the unfamiliarity with the foreign garb leaving him uncertain about her comfort in the harsh temperatures. Little does he know that Akame, with her origins beyond the realms of Westeros, is impervious to the cold's grasp.
Akame was immune to the cold, she could freeze in solid ice but won't die. The icy cold wind can prickle at her skin but she won't feel it. It was one of the abilities of the Nebula soldiers.
The lone solider would reassure him from time to time that she was fine and that her hometown would have harsh winters every now and then and this was nothing.
After long days of riding, the nearing entrance of the town emerges on the horizon, signalling the conclusion of their journey. The town, nestled against the cold winds, welcomes the travellers as the air buzzes with the promise of warmth and shelter. The wooden gates, weathered and enduring, stand as silent sentinels, witnessing the ebb and flow of travellers passing through.
As they approach, Akame's gaze shifts from the horizon to the town's entrance. Her eyes widened in astonishment to seeing a real medieval civilisation right in front of her eyes. The town, with its dirt streets and cozy taverns, beckons as a haven where stories intermingle with the warmth of hearths.
It's primary materials just being stone, wood, or straw.
Harlan guides the wagon with a practiced hand, the creaking of its wheels coming to a slow stop near the entrance of Winter Town.
"We have arrived in Winter Town" Harlan spoke with a satisfied smile. "Alright in we go." Harlan flicked the reins of his brown horse that she came to be known as Philip and with a slight neigh, Philip had begun trotting again.
Akame took one last look of Winter Town, taking in the immerse tranquillity of the place scratching out the horrid odour coming from the breeze, Akame announces her decision to part ways. Harlan, guiding the brown horse with the reins, turns to her inquisitively, stopping Philip in the process. "Why aren't you coming in with me? We made it this far together and I yet to pay you for your work as a sellsword" he remarks, genuine concern etched on his weathered face.
Akame, her black kimono-like outfit standing out against the wintry backdrop, raises a hand in a gentle gesture of farewell. "My journey ends here, Harlan. Your generosity and the stories you shared were more than enough. You can keep the money; I don't need it," she declares, her voice carrying a quiet resolve.
Harlan, initially surprised, studies her expression for a moment before nodding understandingly. "Well, I reckon you only wanted the experience rather than the money. I see then. I guess this is where we part ways. You've been good company," he acknowledges, a twinge of gratitude in his voice.
The old man smiles and nods in farewell and begins to enter town with another flick of the reins. Akame remains by her own wagon on top of Aragon, her red eyes following his decreasing figure. "Take care, Harlan." she calls out.
Harlan turns his head meeting her gaze with a light wave. "And you, stranger. May your journey lead you where you desire and good luck writing your journal." Harlan responds, his tone carrying the weight of unspoken understanding.
As Harlan disappears through the town's gates, Akame watches in silence.
The lone soldier now alone by the wagon takes a moment to absorb the transition. The wind carries the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from within the town, a symphony of daily life unfolding beyond the gates but soon be replaced by the horrid stench of animal manure and other nasty shit she can smell. The lingering scent in the air, thick and pungent, assaults her heightened sense of smell and she quickly stretches her arm to cover her nose, using it as a makeshift filter to shield against the unpleasant aroma.
"Tch! Disgusting."
Funny how people from the dark ages were used to these kind of living conditions that they were to use to this kind of smells.
She probably won't, not for a while.
"Alright lets go" she says with a flat tone of voice, turning her reins and guiding the black Stallion around with a graceful turn.
The two continue on with along the dirt road from where they had previously came from and as they distanced themselves from the unpleasant odour, the air clears, and Akame releases her nose from the impromptu mask. The immediate relief is evident on her face as she breathes in the crisp, fresh air that surrounds them.
"That's better."
Feeling the urge to walk and stretch her legs, Akame stops Aragon and gets off, her landing quite without a sound of a thud to be heard. "Your going to have a lot of work on your hooves from now on" Akame patted Aragon.
The black stallion was going to take her through Westeros from now and she was never going to replace him nor trade him for anything. Aragon was a gift to her, an animal companion, and the couple of weeks of being together she found her solitude in him.
"I wonder if your just a regular black horse" she mumbled softly to herself.
Akame strolls leisurely beside Aragon, a silent understanding binding them together. She has long relinquished the reins, recognising that the black stallion needs no guidance, his loyalty manifests in each synchronised step.
He was like a spirit guardian.
The lone soldier slid out her drawing book and begins to draw once again to pass time, letting Aragon guide her along while she followed subconsciously. Akame, with her artistic flair and an unquenchable thirst for expression, decides to bring to life the mythical creatures from the pictures she had encountered on the internet.
Dragons.
As the charcoal contacts the parchment, Akame's movements become fluid, a dance of creation that mirrors the graceful strides of Aragon. Her strokes gracefully turning and sketching unfurling wings in majestic arcs and scales catching the imaginary light of a distant sun.
Akame, absorbed in the artistic process, envisions not just a solitary beast, but a majestic creature ridden by daring individuals soaring through the skies. The depiction mirrors the fantasies she had glimpsed on the internet, where dragons were not merely mythical beings but majestic companions, their riders bound by an unspoken bond.
The charcoal left smudged traces but it added that artistic touch to her drawing.
While Akame, the lone solider was absorbed in her own drawing her sharp senses caught the sounds of loud animal hoof beaths against the hard earth. The distant sound of fast approaching horses pierces through the quiet ambiance, but not enough to move Akame's attention from her drawing.
Aragon too, senses the approaching commotion. His ears twitch with an acute awareness, and a flicker of anticipation lights up his intelligent eyes. The familiar sounds of equine fervour draw his attention.
The riders, still unseen but their harmless banter growing more distinct, emerge into view. Two dark brown horses lead the way, and a sleek black stallion follows closely, the very embodiment of equine strength and speed. Their voices, laced with the spirited energy of a race, reach Akame's ears as they exchange jabs and taunts, the essence of friendly competition hanging in the air.
Amidst their banter, one rider, can be seen turning back, his curly brown hair wavering in the cold breeze and his voice can be heard calling out to the other. "Come on, Jon! Is that the best pace you've got, or are you saving your energy for the winter?" His words, drenched in playful mockery, carry over the thudding hooves and racing wind.
The rider at the back, Jon, retaliates with a jest, "Slowpoke? I'll have you know my horse has a mind of his own, unlike yours. Maybe you need to find yourself a noble steed instead of that nag." The camaraderie in their exchange is palpable, yet an undercurrent of rivalry adds spice to their banter.
The brown hair rider laughs.
Aragon, sensing the charged atmosphere, releases a low snort in response to the banter, a subtle acknowledgment of the racing energy coursing through the scene. Akame, however, remains the epitome of stoicism, her gaze firmly fixed on the journal in her hands as she deliberately ignores the unfolding spectacle.
As the riders draw nearer, revelling in the banter, hurls a jest laced with an unexpected insult, "You ride like a bastard, Snow! No wonder you're always at the back!" The words hang in the air, a fleeting moment of playful taunting that, unbeknownst to anyone, carried a sense of danger to the lone soldier.
A momentary jolt courses through Akame as she catches the familiar name—Snow. The realisation dawns on her like a sudden gust of wind, and for an instant, her heart skips a beat. Jon Snow, Ned Stark's reputed bastard. That means the other two riders must be Robb Stark the eldest son of Ned and Catelyn, and Theon Greyjoy a boy presented to the Starks to avoid another uprising from the Greyjoy's.
"Oh shit" Akame whispered with a panic. She fucked up big time. BIG TIME!
Jon, unaffected by the jest, retorts back "Better a bastard on a horse than a ward who can't keep up!"
She was right, it is Theon Greyjoy.
Like a car passing by, the three raced by Akame and her black horse. A sigh of relief escapes her, gratitude flooding her senses that the riders, wrapped in their own competitive banter, continue on their way without a pause or a glance her way.
"My fate is in your hands God." Akame said sarcastically as she glanced up at the sky. "Don't let it go…please."
The dust stirred by their galloping hooves settles and Akame takes a moment to gather herself. The potential encounter, a near miss, echoes in the recesses of her thoughts.
Just as Akame thought she escaped those nobles; the distant echoes of more approaching horse steps jolts a lightning strike up her spine and she stiffens. This time, a young voice punctuates the air, urging his mount to hasten its pace. Akame's keen ears pick up on the youthful exuberance, a stark contrast to the banter of the previous riders.
As the newcomer draws nearer, Akame, mindful of her surroundings, prepares to lower herself and hide her face. She adjusts her posture bringing the book near her face and just casually pretends to mind her business but was praying to God to let him pass by like the others.
She was walking on enemy territory.
The young boy, unaware of the solitary traveller who was mentally panicking by the roadside, races past with unbridled enthusiasm. His laughter mingles with the rhythm of hooves, and his jubilant cries carve a fleeting moment of innocent joy.
Another sigh of relief escapes Akame's lips and she can finally breath properly. "That was a close call. If either of them stopped, I would have been noticed for good." The lone soldier understand that her unique features, her expensive attire, and her red eyes would catch the curiosity of people.
She crossed paths with many travellers and merchants while traveling with Harlan and many stopped to gaze at her like a piece of ornament displayed in a museum, much to her discomfort.
'Just keep going. Just keep going. Don't turn around or I will be forced to gauge your eyes out.'
To much of Akame's dismay, fate had really slipped out of God's hands.
From the galloping ensemble, a fur cape dislodges, dancing momentarily in the air before settling gracefully by the roadside. Akame's keen eyes follow the trajectory of the falling garment, and her gaze lingers on the unexpected treasure that now lies at her feet.
The fur cape, a luxurious accessory that perhaps once adorned the shoulders of a noble or a high-born, now rests incongruously on the open road, next to her.
Akame pulled a face. 'Why the fuck did it happen to loose itself now! Of all places but here!'. Her eyes fixated on the fur cape, contemplates the weight of her decision. She was tempted to pretend to ignore and just keep walking as if she didn't see it or she should be nice and give it to the boy instead.
Her red eyes shift side to side as if searching for anyone that would see her and she just casually walks away pretending not to notice but the boy with instinctive turn of his horse, the boy redirects his course, curiosity propelling him back along the road he just traversed.
Akame flinched. 'SHIT! SHIT SHIT! RETREAT! RETREAT!'
The boy, with an eagerness that only youth can muster, gallops back towards the spot where the fur cape lies. Akame watches the scene unfold, her eyes taking in the spectacle of the returning rider. As he draws nearer, she notices the tousled brown hair framing a youthful face filled with a blend of innocence and curiosity.
"I hate my fate" Akame mumbles bitterly to herself. She can't be mean to a child, especially one that is innocent like a little wolf pup. The lone solider strolls over to the fur cape and picks it up.
the boy who had unknowingly parted with his fur cape, comes to a gentle stop before Akame. His eyes, wide with a mix of curiosity and apology, meet hers. Akame, accustomed to the unexpected turns of fate, offers him a nod of acknowledgment, silently affirming that the fur cape now in her possession indeed belongs to him.
With a sincere apology, the little boy explains in his soft British Accent that Akame had caught "I didn't seem to have tied it properly enough. Thank you for picking it up." His voice, laden with genuine gratitude, carries the sincerity of a child who has momentarily strayed from the carefree pursuit of joy.
Akame nods and a smile manages to perch her lips. Looking at the young boy he looked like an endearing 10-year-old boy. He had a cherubic face with innocent, wide-set eyes that reflected curiosity and wonder. His features, characterised by a button nose and a soft, childlike smile that adds to his overall charm. His youthfulness is accentuated by his rosy cheeks, giving him an adorable and approachable appearance. His hair was light and tousled which added to the carefree and playful aura that surrounded him.
The first thought that went through her head was hoe cute this adorable kid was but soon painful memories soon came flashing in her mind of dead bodies of children littered across cities, faces of gaunt children of bombed countries and their cries echoing in her ears had her turning away in an instant shift.
How many innocent children killed and all for what?
Hypocritical, greedy, and corrupted bastards, that's why.
The lone soldier hands him the fur cape, her eyes lowered down to avoid any more haunting memories coming back. The young Stark kid with his youthful features and the innocence of a boy just beginning to navigate the complexities of the world, takes in the sight before him. Akame, in her exotic attire and crimson eyes, becomes an enigma—a figure etched against the backdrop of his familiar Westeros. Mesmerized by the encounter, he accepts the fur cape with a mixture of curiosity and unspoken wonder. The differences between them, apparent in her distinct features, her unconventional clothing, and the vividness of her red eyes, become points of fascination for the young Stark.
Akame, for her part, finds herself softened by the presence of the young boy. Her affinity for children, nurtured by the empathy forged in the crucible of war-torn families and orphaned faces, resonates in the warmth she extends to the kid. Despite the unfamiliarity of her appearance, she sees in him the essence of innocence—a fleeting reminder of the untainted joy that childhood captures.
"Thank you" he says again cradling the fur in his embrace yet his deep blue eyes still lingered on Akame.
The curiosity in his young eyes intensifies, and he can't help but voice the burning questions that dance in his mind. "Are your eyes really that shade of red?" he inquires, his voice a mixture of wonder and innocent fascination.
The lone solider renders speechless for a second, her mind going blank for instant moment before holding back a little chuckle 'This kid.'
"Yes" Akame says softly.
"They're pretty," Bran remarks, his admiration genuine and unfiltered. The novelty of encountering someone with such distinctive features, coupled with the allure of her exotic appearance, captivates the young Stark.
Akame's smiled a warm yet soft smile at the little boys compliment. It wasn't big or joyful like the little kid's one from earlier but it was smile that held much more than what she could show.
These red eyes were only just a reminder of who she really was.
Although it didn't hurt to get a compliment from a kid.
Kids were annoyingly honest but it what makes Akame love them. As much as this kid may be related to the Starks, he is just an innocent child with no intentions but she couldn't pry much longer, those boys were bound to come looking for him and that would mean seeing her.
She had to leave, even if it means parting from this cute kid.
The boys innocent observations continued pave the way for more questions.
Undeterred by Akame's quiet demeanour, Bran's curiosity only grows. "Where are you from?" he asks, his words carrying a childlike eagerness. The foreignness of Akame's appearance, from her crimson eyes to the intricate embroidery on her clothes, fuels his imagination. He ventures a guess, "Are you a noble?" His gaze drifts to the elaborate details of her attire, hinting at a life of opulence and privilege.
Akame, mindful of the need for discretion, offers a measured response. "I am a traveller from Essos," she says, revealing no more than the essential details.
The youthful curiosity continues to flicker in his eyes. "Essos?" he muses, the name familiar but tinged with a sense of adventure. Before he can delve deeper into the intricacies of Essos or inquire about her travels, Akame, with a polite yet firm demeanour, excuses herself.
"I apologise, but I must continue my journey," she says kindly, hoping to gently redirect the conversation. Her tone wasn't cold or emotionless like it was with Harlan or any other person, it was warm and friendly, nothing to frighten the kid.
Before the young boy can offer any response, a familiar voice pierces the air, calling out his name. The trio of boys from before, led by Robb and accompanied by Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy, reappears on the scene.
The realisation of the impending encounter sends a shiver up Akame's spine, and she understands the precariousness of her situation.
'FUCK! I need to get out of here.'
In that moment, she makes a quick decision. Without a word or a glance in the direction of the approaching group, Akame moves and quickens her pace, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. The vibrant world around her becomes a blur as she deliberately lowers her eyes.
"See ya kid" she murmurs loudly enough for Bran Stark to hear before she walks off with Aragon beside her.
Bran torn between the curiosity that still lingers in his eyes and the beckoning call of his family, glances back at Akame. Sensing her change in demeanour, he notices the hastened pace and the deliberate avoidance of eye contact. The trio of boys, now within earshot, redirects their attention to Bran.
"Hey, Bran! What are you doing? Come on, we're racing to Winterfell!" The curly auburn haired boy remarks with a mixture of brotherly authority and amusement.
Akame composed herself to avoid making her seem like she did something illegal and is escaping the crime scene. 'Keep moving, don't make eye contact' she kept telling herself. She pretend to be drawing in her book again, charcoal pencil in her hand and sketching away as the boys rode past her but felt their pair of eyes glance at her.
Bran, unable to contain his excitement, bursts forth with the news, "I just met someone from Essos! She has these amazing red eyes." His words tumble out in a rush, the enthusiasm of the encounter evident in his animated expression.
Theon Greyjoy, ever the sceptic, scoffs dismissively. "Red eyes? Sounds like some sickness to me. Essos is probably full of weird diseases."
Bran, undeterred by Theon's scepticism, defends his newfound acquaintance. "No, it wasn't like that. She was the most beautiful maiden I've ever seen."
Theon's scoff deepens, a smirk playing on his lips. "The most beautiful maiden you say. You must be seeing things, Bran. Red eyes and all. She's probably some foreigner with odd customs."
Bran, however, remains steadfast in his admiration. "No, she was different. Not like anyone from here. Her clothes, her eyes, everything. She's like a character from one of Old Nan's stories."
Robb Stark, the eldest among them, remained unusually quiet. His gaze intermittently drifts back towards the Essos girl they had just passed.
Her posture was one of a fighter, that he noted, especially with that unique curved sword of her hers attached to her waist. Her long jest black hair swayed gently against the breeze and her dress hung low just below her ankles.
Jon Snow, observant as ever, notices Robb's contemplative demeanour and he too looks over to the girl who paid them no mind as she hung her head low and walked, her figure and the black horse growing smaller as they walked further away.
Urging his brown horse forward, Robb rides back and heads towards the Essos girl. Theon, Jon, and Bran confused watched Robb's departure. Theon, ever the one to voice his thoughts, can't help but ask, "What is he doing?"
Jon, his gaze still following Robb's path, shrugs in response.
Bran, caught in the interplay of their shifting dynamics, watches with a mixture of intrigue and uncertainty. The Essosi encounter, initially a tale spun by Bran, now takes an unexpected turn as Robb, driven by a quiet resolve, seeks to see to himself.
Theon, with a sardonic grin, quips, "Looks like Robb's found his first one. Better hope a bastard isn't born" His tone carries a mixture of amusement and mild insult, the usual undercurrent of banter woven into his words.
Jon eyes him dangerously at his last words but says nothing as Bran is present.
Robb closes the distance between himself and the departing figure of Akame. His horse trots at a steady pace, carrying him closer to the mysterious woman whose presence has stirred a quiet curiosity within him.
Meanwhile, Akame, aware of their presence but determined to distance herself, continues to walk away from the group. She keeps her gaze lowered, pretending not to notice the shift in dynamics behind her but the hard grip of her charcoal lead pencil said it all.
The thought of being acknowledged by these people weighed heavily on her. Gripping the wooden charcoal pencil with a mix of panic and anger, she struggled to focus on the task of drawing. The delicate pencil, strained by her strong grip, finally snapped the moment the horse trotted right next her and the sharp sound pierced the air.
"Fuck!" she hissed out loudly.
"Is everything alright My lady?" the familiar male British accent spoke up and Akame didn't dare to turn to look at whoever it was because she already sensed it just by remembering his voice from earlier when he passed by racing.
Robb Stark.
Just her luck.
"Yes…Everything is alright, my pencil just snapped from pressing to hard" the lone soldier lied with a cold response.
There was a slight silence and Akame could feel his eyes analysing her face as if he could sense her lie. "Is that so. Did you have a spar to replace your broken pencil?"
The word pencil sounded so foreign to him as it slip from his lips.
Akame just nodded her head, wishing silently for him to go away and leave her alone. She didn't want to involve herself with this person or let him know who she was and what kind of person she was. Neither did she want that cliché thing of founding her interesting.
Robbs horse moved with the same rhythm of the black stallion, carrying him with the noble demeanour characteristic of House Stark. His pretty blue eyes, reminiscent of the vast and stoic gaze that defines him, fixate upon the crimson-eyed traveller.
In his stoic yet polite manner, Robb questions her, his voice carrying the echoes of noble upbringing. "What is your name?" His words, delivered with a touch of curiosity and the quiet authority that befits a Stark, hang in the air, marking the intersection of their paths.
Akame, pausing her steps, turns to face the Stark heir. Her red eyes, a striking contrast to the muted colours of Westeros, meet Robb's intense gaze. The momentary pause stretches, a silent exchange between the lone soldier and the noble heir of Winterfell. His piercing blue eyes was one to catch her attention.
The colour matched his features of light skin and auburn hair. In his eyes Akame could see intense and clear, a sense of determination and leadership stirred within those eyes of his eyes.
But the blue colour of his eyes was nothing like her brother's bright blue eyes, the colour of a striking clear blue ocean.
For a breath, time seems to stand still. Robb, caught in the magnetic pull of her crimson gaze, finds himself momentarily breathless. The intensity of her eyes, an allure heightened by the mystery that surrounds her, captivates him in a way that transcends the ordinary encounters.
Robb, unable to look away, finds himself drawn into the depths of her red eyes, each hue a reflection of the untold stories and distant lands that define her.
In this moment of shared gaze, the open road near Winterfell becomes a tableau where the stoic blue eyes of the Stark heir meet the vivid red eyes of the Essosi traveler. The world around them fades into the background, leaving only the silent exchange of gazes—a subtle dance of curiosity, fascination, and the unspoken connection that transcends the boundaries of their respective worlds.
As Robb awaits her answer, the others slowly make their way, converging on the scene. Akame, feeling a twinge of regret, wonders if she should have just continued with Harlan instead. She stares at Robb with a blank expression, her thoughts momentarily drifting to how she was going to get out of this.
Could she just jump on her horse and make a run for if?
No that would be just stupid.
In response to Robb's inquiry, Akame calmly states, "In my homeland, it's customary for the one extending the greeting to introduce themselves first before seeking the name of the other." Her words, delivered with a touch of formality, hang in the air as she awaits the reactions.
Robb, confused by the exchange, steadies his dark brown horse. His furrowed brow and the subtle narrowing of his eyes convey a look of bewilderment, a silent question of whether this mysterious traveller truly understands the ways of Westeros. There's a subtle hint of aristocratic expectation in his expression, a suggestion of 'don't you know who I am?'
However, Theon, ever the snarky one, interjects with a rude remark. "This isn't Essos, darling. In Westeros, we do things differently." His tone carries a condescending edge, dismissing the foreign customs with a scoff. "Especially to pretty girls like you."
The last line was not called for and Akame shot a cold glare that took the young Greyjoy by surprise.
Jon couldn't help but smirk at Theon sudden change of expression.
Akame saw this and her eyes lingered to Jon, for a slight moment she saw a slight cuteness to him, a foreign thing to feel about men. Jon's rugged, yet handsome appearance, with his brooding brown eyes and well-defined jawline, struck a chord to Akame.
What particularly caught Akame's attention was Jon's hair. His crowning glory, as dark as the dark black cloak he wore behind him, fell in a tousled manner that spoke of untamed wilderness. In her eyes, the way Jon's hair seemed to defy convention added a touch of innocence and charm to his overall demeanour.
Not to mention it reminded her of a fluffy pompom and she surpassed a small smile and raised brow.
It seemed Jon noticed her gaze at him and his already pink cheeks went bright red with fluster, seeing how she was observing him. Her cold, emotionless eyes seemed to had changed when it laid on him, and now all he could see was a beautiful ray of colourful glimmer of red.
Immediately he turned his eyes way, and sign of shame or embarrassment lingered by.
The eldest stark blue eyes went from Akame to Jon and he witnessed the quite interaction between his half brother and the woman and felt a twinge of jealousy but said nothing and kept it to himself.
In response to Theon's remark, Robb, still somewhat puzzled, asks Akame in a tone that hints at both confusion and a subtle expectation, "Do you know who I am?" It's a question framed in the assumption that his identity should be apparent to all in Westeros.
Tempted to retort with her own response which was 'No you fuckin ancient dim wit, no I don't and I presume all of Essos don't give a fuck about your lowly ass to know you even exist now fuck off' but Akame restrained herself and instead shakes her head, her crimson eyes meeting Robb's gaze.
With a blunt and straightforward "No," Akame cuts through the mounting tension yet the lone soldier wasn't finished, she added more comments "Neither does Essos know that you exist."
Bran snorted out a laughter but quickly hid it in embarrassment.
The polite insult hit Robb like a bullet indicating that Essos didn't give two fucks about the people of Westeros to know any noble houses. He stared at her with shock before the understanding in his blue eyes showed and he apologised for assuming she would know him.
"My name is Robb Stark, eldest son of Eddard Stark the Lord of Winterfell" he introduced himself.
Subconsciously, Akame looks down at her wrist not letting him speak further to prevent any conversation from working its way up, nor bothering to introduce herself as she never planned to, "Oh won't you look at the time, I have to continue on. I'm late by a few days on my schedule. Best be going now" the lone soldier said with a hint of sarcasm in her tone before politely excusing herself, hoping this would just end.
Theon wasn't having much of Akame's coldly remarks at Robb and rude behaviour. Theon, ever quick with his tongue, throws another snarky remark in her direction, a comment that prompts a disapproving look from Robb.
Akame continues to walk away, seemingly unaffected by their presence.
The eldest Stark Boy, not pleased with the dismissive demeanour of the Essos woman, Robb spurs his horse and quickly catches up to her. The dark brown horse moves with a fluid grace, stopping abruptly right in front of Akame, cutting off her path. The sudden halt of his horse sends ripples of tension through the air.
Bran, Jon, and Theon exchange glances.
Robb, his eyes unyielding and inquisitive, gazes down at Akame from his elevated position. The stoic intensity of his blue eyes, framed by the fur lining of his noble Stark attire, conveys a sense of authority and expectation. The air crackles with a silent standoff between the noble heir of Winterfell and the mysterious traveller from Essos. He steadies his horse, the steely determination in his eyes undeterred by Akame's earlier dismissal. The wind carries a hint of the North's chill, but Robb's gaze remains unwavering as he seeks for the one answer.
In this charged moment, Robb, perhaps fuelled by a mix of curiosity and a desire to understand this mysterious woman, opens his mouth to speak. His voice carries a firmness that befits a Stark, each word measured and deliberate. "You may be used to your customs in Essos, but here in Westeros, we introduce ourselves first before expecting the same in return."
That was a huge blow to Akame preferably indicating to her rude manner of not introducing herself when he had introduced himself to her.
Robb's expression remains unwavering, the determined gaze searching for a response. The stoicism of Winterfell, the weight of noble lineage, and the unspoken expectation of acknowledgment converge in this encounter.
Akame's emotionless expression remains unchanged as she gazes up at Robb Stark. Her empty red eyes, like two pools devoid of discernible emotion, analyse him with a keen observance. She doesn't show any signs of annoyance, but her silence speaks volumes, and she didn't seem like she was having it.
Pissed, annoyed and angry, all of those emotions hidden from view.
Robb, feeling the weight of her observant eyes upon him, experiences a subtle discomfort. Yet, the Stark heir remains composed, a stoic facade concealing any unease. He decides to break the silence with a polite request, his British accent making Akame wonder if this Westeros resembled England.
"May I please know your name, my lady?" His voice, resonant and velvety, echoes with a richness befitting a Stark of Winterfell. The words are delivered with a measured politeness, a courteous inquiry that carries with it.
The eagerness in his blue eyes just to know who she was visible to Akame. From her perspective as she observed the boy, Robb Stark sat tall and imposing, his figure clad in the distinctive attire of a noble of Winterfell. His dark brown hair, windswept by the chilly Northern breeze, frames a face marked by the Stark features—sharp jawline, defined cheekbones, and a certain rugged handsomeness that characterises the eldest son of Eddard Stark. His eyes, the blue in colour, pierce through the air with a resolute gaze that reflects the determination of a young lord.
Robb's face is adorned with a light layer of scruff, adding a touch of maturity to his youthful visage. The fur lining of his noble attire complements the North's cold climate, and the direwolf sigil on his clothing serves as a silent emblem of his House's strength and loyalty.
As Akame observes him, she notices the controlled strength in his posture, an unyielding resolve that emanates from the Stark bloodline. And his blue eyes still fixate on her with an intensity that goes beyond mere curiosity. There's an undeniable awe in his gaze, as if the mysterious woman before him holds the key to unlocking something profound.
Robb, standing patiently, awaits her response. The silence hangs in the air, pregnant with unspoken questions and the weight of an unfamiliar encounter. His determination is palpable, each moment of waiting accentuated by the subtle anticipation in his eyes. The Stark heir's gaze remains fixed on Akame, a silent plea for answers and a desperate desire to unravel the mystery she presents.
In that brief moment of contemplation, Akame weighs the potential consequences of revealing her true name. The importance of maintaining the veil of secrecy surrounding her identity prevails. She wasn't stupid to give her real name not to someone she won't ever meet again. With a calm yet firm voice, she utters the name "Yuna," pronouncing it with the subtle grace of the Japanese language, each syllable carrying a delicate resonance.
Robb, hearing the unfamiliar name, repeats it after her, his British accent lending a touch of charm to the foreign syllables. His expression reflects a sense of satisfaction, as if he appreciates the uniqueness of the name he just heard. To him, it sounds exotic and different from anything he has encountered before.
Robb, undeterred by the initial question, proceeds with his inquiry, asking for Akame's last name.
"And your last name?"
In response, she raises a questionable brow, a subtle indication of her guarded nature. Folding her arms, she meets his gaze with an air of composed curiosity. "Would you prefer my maiden last name or the legal one from my husband?
Robb, caught momentarily off guard by the unexpected complexity of her response, conceals a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. It's a nuanced reaction, fleeting and well-hidden beneath the surface of his usual composed demeanour.
In that pregnant pause that follows, Robb's expression undergoes a subtle shift, akin to someone who has just heard a request for a breakup but doesn't overtly display the sentiment.
Akame saw it, she sensed and she knew it. The boy was interested in her, developing a little crush with the new outsider.
Love at First sight.
If she could shoot herself before anything else develops, she would.
This was not her cup of tea.
After a beat, Robb, choosing his words carefully, responds with a touch of hesitation, "Uh, either is fine. Whichever you prefer" His fumbled words betray a subtle uncertainty.
The others caught up and stared at Robb except for Bran who seemed rather pleased to have her name and kept trying to pronounce it the way she did.
Theon began to smirk uncontrollably as his gaze shifts to Robb. "Married" he whispers a taunt at Robb.
Akame, mentally rolling her eyes with a tinge of annoyance, decides to play along with the charade she made up.
"The name is Yuna Uchiha, but after marring my husband Kakashi Hatake it's become Yuna Hatake. My husband is the Hokage of our village, The Lord in the village hidden in the leaves."
