Robb hit the floor with a thud, but he didn't feel a thing. Didn't feel anything other than the hot fluid running down his body under his doublet.

It was funny, really, how he had been hit by several crossbow bolts and stabbed in the chest, and yet the only thing that registered was the way his blood tickled on his skin. It was almost as if he had spilled a drink or gone bathing in the hot springs at Winterfell, dipping under and then coming back up again, feeling the drops make their way down his body.

Robb had the odd suspicion he wouldn't be 'coming back up again' in quite some time, though.

There were black spots at the edge of his vision, closing in rapidly, and even though Robb was sure his eyes were open and his surroundings weren't drenched in darkness, he soon couldn't see anything. He tasted blood in his mouth and could hear a scream - Mother? - before everything went silent.

Robb blinked, once, twice, but it didn't make a difference. He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

The tickling had stopped and turned into a warm wetness under his doublet instead.

Robb blinked a third time and the feeling was gone.

Instead of darkness or candlelight, a woman now occupied his vision.

Her face was veiled, but he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. There was a circlet on her grey hair and her blue eyes were so deep and sad that it made Robb want to cry too.

The woman shook her head and new tears escaped her eyes. One of her hands came up to cup his cheek and through the feeling of safety that enveloped him, Robb only barely registered how big the hand was.

A rough sob tore through his throat. He brought his own hand up to cover hers and closed his eyes.

"Oh, Vinyaráco," she whispered. "Nanyë nyérinqua."

"What?" Robb croaked, cracking his eyes back open. What language was she speaking in? The Old Tongue?

"I am sorry," she said, and her voice sounded older and gentler than any he had ever heard.

"Nienna," another voice spoke up; a male one this time. "He must be told."

The woman - Nienna - nodded and drew back, although her eyes did not stop spilling tears.

Robb sat up, touching his chest incredulously. It did not hurt anymore and there was not a trace of blood.

He pressed his lips together. This was it then, he supposed. He was dead. After a deep breath, the duration of which being the only time he would allow himself to feel panic, Robb finally took a look at his surroundings.

He was in a big, open room that seemed to be near the top of a mountain. There were no real walls, only pillars at the edges to hold the ceiling up. Outside, Robb could see a beautiful sunrise-or sunset, he couldn't be sure.

Within the hall stood fourteen chairs, thrones, but not all were occupied.

The people they must have belonged to were scattered around the room and looked unlike anyone Robb had ever seen before.

They were twice his height, for starters, and all seemed to have long, pointy ears.

Another woman stood behind the one called Nienna, a hand on her shoulder, with pitch-black skin. It was freckled with luminescent dots that made Robb think of the night sky. Her dark, curly hair floated in the air and her eyes glowed like a myriad of tiny stars clustered together. The woman seemed to emit black mist and soft light at the same time. She was ethereal and terrifyingly beautiful.

There was a man with a face that told stories of smiling just as much as of roaring in anger. This, coupled with his muscles, reminded Robb of what Robert Baratheon must have looked like during the Rebellion.

Next to him stood a woman with a long brown plait. Her clothes looked Dornish or maybe even Essosi to Robb. The fabric was thin and flowing and showed off more skin that could be considered proper. Hundreds of bells decorated the lady's hair and gown.

Letting his eyes wander farther he spotted another woman, this one with skin like bark: brown and ridged. Branches and leaves grew on her head like hair and she swayed gently, like a slender tree in the wind. Her green eyes seemed to glow and were fixed on Robb.

As the thrones suggested, there were all of fourteen people in the room; seven men and seven women - if these beings adhered to such mundane concepts. Because Robb, still on his knees, had a fast-growing suspicion of who they might be.

"Are you the gods?" he asked.

"Ah," said a being - for lack of a better term - with long white hair and wings of all things. Their voice made Robb shiver: it sounded like several people speaking at once. But they were smiling.

"A just question, Vinyaráco, but one not so easily answered. We are Valar. We have shaped this world and defended it against evil. We possess powers beyond your imagination. So, indeed, you might think of us as gods.

"In truth, your gods are our kin, not in hröa but in fëa. We were all made by Eru Ilúvatar, and although we share no blood, we all consider him our father. We chose to go to this world aeons ago, before life existed on it, and such was the case with your gods and your world."

It took Robb a moment to understand what he was being told.

"So, you mean... this is a different world? Not the afterlife?"

The being tilted their head to the side.

"It is the life after yours ended, and you are dead in your world. But this is Arda, not Westeros, and you are needed. A great evil rears its head. One of our kind, though lesser in power. Mairon, we called him before he fell and became Sauron."

Robb spluttered. "What do you mean, I am needed? I may have been a king and won my battles, but in everything else, I failed! I could not keep those sworn to me by my side; every decision I made outside of battle was a foolish one. And that was without the inclusion of... of magic and a 'great evil'!" Robb shook his head. "I cannot be the one you want, for the sake of your world."

"You will find the enemies here to be easier identifiable than in Westeros," a deep-voiced woman with a small loom in her hands said without looking up from her weaving. "Deceit exists in Arda, but the realms of men are yet reigned by honour."

"Vairë is right," the winged being nodded. "Your task will not be to scheme and spin intrigues if that is your concern. But the greatest weapon of Sauron must be destroyed and you will be needed to help certain members of the Fellowship to stay on the right path, to accept their place in the world."

Robb did not get the chance to ask what this 'Fellowship' was and whether they were the ones set to destroy this weapon. Another voice spoke up.

"Whether you think you failed or not, you were a king,", the star-freckled woman told him kindly. "You could inspire courage and hope, and inspire Hope you will have to. You must bring Hope to the throne of the realm of Gondor. That is your task."

At the other side of the room, a man in boiled leathers and with a horn at his side stood up. He had the look of a hunter - lean but athletic, calm, patient. "You will have your truest companion with you, Vinyaráco, the one who understands you without words."

The one in white inclined their head. "Indeed. Look for Olórin when you wake, for he is wise and faithful, despite his fear of Sauron."

Robb had so many questions but suddenly felt incredibly tired, even if he had been wide awake only moments before. He could barely keep his eyes open. As he started to sway, the crying woman knelt next to him again and gently cradled him to her chest. A veiled man with blond hair got down on his knees as well and gently pushed the hair out of Robb's face.

Robb's eyes finally closed and he drifted away. The last thing he heard before darkness finally enveloped him was a whisper.

"Hrívë úva Mordorenna."

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ǫᴜᴇɴʏᴀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

"Vinyaráco"
    =Young Wolf

"Nanyë nyérinqua."

"hröa"
    =body

"fëa"
    =spirit

"Hrívë úva Mordorenna."
    =Winter is coming to Mordor.

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