In many dreams he'd had over the years, he saw his wife again, and in some of them she would be cradling the child he had left her with before he had appeared here on that fateful day. A tiny little bundle Robb longed to hold but was at peace with the sight of him in her care. Years passed, and in the dreams that boy became a toddler, who would make his mother smile where Robb no longer could. He would never see them again, but they would be happy together. Those who had been loyal to him and his family would keep her safe until the war was over, he thought. But now, he saw that image of her face again: how she must of looked when the sword was pushed into her belly. Would she of known that it was coming? Would she have been afraid, did she suffer long? Had she tried to get away, and had one blow been enough, or was it more? And there had never been any child, he knew that now. His young wife died alone, killed by ones who should have protected her. His free hand found his mouth and covered it, stifling both the feeling of a sob and sickness that rose in his chest.
For a long time he could say nothing, but when he did, it wasn't quiet sadness that came forth. "Damn...damn it!" He pulled his hand from hers and stood up, turning his back to her. She had given him a moment of life, but had taken it all away again with those words. Again he yelled the curse, slamming his fist against the wall in front of him. He held it closed there, staring ahead with anger in his eyes. Of course he had always considered that any of those he'd once know could be dead, but not his wife-- she was harmless, why would anyone hurt her? He knew the reasons why people would want to hurt her, but it was only now he was forced to accept it. "It was... It was my fault," he said in a low voice, "It was my selfishness that got her killed." That had gotten some of his allies killed, that had finally gotten his mother and Grey Wind killed. Had he made one different decision, everything would have been different. "If I had only--" He wasn't sure. Never allowed himself to fall in love? He was a man of twenty two now, but Jeyne was still the fifteen year old girl he'd once known in his memories, a gentle soul, one that was not cut out to be a queen in war time. Robb had understood this and had asked her to be candid about her feelings with him, to tell him if she regretted marrying a man who came attached to such weighty responsibility. She had told him, "I feel safe and strong when you are at my side, I don't regret a thing." She died alone, he thought again, without him there to do a thing for her.