"One day, she promised herself as she lay abed, one day she would allow herself to be less than strong. But not today. It could not be today."

The Red Keep gleamed at the peak of Aegon's Hill. Earlier that morning, the princess had said goodbye to all her favorite places- the harbor, the garden, the crypt where dragon skulls slumbered undisturbed. Now, from the crest of a grassy slope, she said a final farewell to the city of her birth. King's Landing stretched out before her. A maze of bricks and gold, all bathed in sunlight.

"Do you think we'll ever return, m'lady?" Alodie asked.

"I don't know," Aella admitted. "You could stay. It's not too late."

"No," the maid said staunchly. "I go where you go, as I always have."

Aella smiled at her. She didn't know what awaited her in Winterfell, but it brought some comfort knowing she wouldn't be entirely without a familiar friend.

"We should rejoin the others," Alodie said. The last of the caravan had reached the bottom of the hill. Aella drank in as much of the city as she could- the sun sparkling on the bay brighter than the crystals of Baelor's Sept, the smell of salt and sweat and fish wafting from the market. Where she was headed, there was no ocean. Only snow, stone, and ghosts.

Aella nudged her horse in the ribs. Her maid trailing behind her, she galloped down the slope, and the Red Keep sunk below the hill top. She didn't look back, for fear that if she did, there would be no going forward.

Uncle Tyrion lingered at the rear of the caravan, waiting for her.

"Did you say goodbye?" he asked when she sidled up next to him. Aella nodded. She looked ahead to the massive wheelhouse, drawn by six horses. Her mother and siblings were inside. The royal banner, a crowned and golden stag, flew from its roof.

"Tell me about the Starks," she said, knowing that if anyone was to give her an honest answer, it would be Tyrion.

"They're Northmen," he said, shrugging his lopsided shoulders.

"But what does that mean?"

"Give them a choice between cotton and lace, they'll chose cotton. Stone or gold? They'd pick stone. The Northmen are a hard, practical lot, but they're better than most. I've heard the boy is honorable."

"My betrothed, you mean," she sneered.

"I've heard he's handsome, m'lady," Alodie added. But Robb Stark could be the fairest man in all of the world and the princess still wouldn't care.

"If he's anything like his father, he'll treat you well," Tyrion said.

Aella rolled her eyes. "That certainly puts me at ease. I wish I was like you, deformed and stunted. No one would want to marry me then."

"My lady!" Alodie gasped. Tyrion, however, laughed. No one had ever wished to be like him before.

"You're the princess," he said. "Even if you were only half of one, they'd all want your hand."

"Have you ever met Lord Stark?"

"Once, at your father's coronation."

"And?" Aella pressed.

"You want to know what I remember about him? He didn't treat me any differently than he treated anyone else."

"But you are different." She grinned. "You're smarter than anyone else."

They fell silent for a time. Then she asked, "Do you think my betrothed will love me?"

"Maybe," Tyrion said. "Maybe not. Either way, you'll be far away from your dear mother. I'd say that's blessing enough."

Unless Robb Stark was somehow worse than the Queen. It didn't really matter if she was in King's Landing or Winterfell, she'd never be free. A princess had to belong to someone. A princess had to be caged.


Aella walked ahead of the caravan. She was sick of riding in the wheelhouse, sick of the rain that wouldn't let up, and sick of being constantly flanked by goldcloaks. After two weeks on the Kingsroad, even Tyrion's company had grown tiresome. This was her first solitary moment since leaving the capital.

She slid off her shoes. Mud gushed between her toes. Proper princesses don't trod barefoot through the mud, the Queen would say. Proper princesses didn't do anything fun. Aella lifted her skirts above her knees and splashed through a puddle. Already it was colder than she was used to. Her breath came in puffs of white.

Soon they'd come looking for her. She considered running away before they did. How far could she make it? She could slip into the woods, backtrack to King's Landing, sell her jewelry to buy passage on a ship, and then sail to the lands of always summer. No one there would know who she was. I'd join a troupe of entertainers. A court jester had taught her to juggle and she'd much rather be a fool than a princess.

The unmistakable sound of an approaching rider chased away her fantasies. Aella put on her shoes. She expected a goldcloak, but it was her father's black courser that sped towards her. The King pulled hard at the reigns and came to a halt. His blue eyes shone bright as sapphires. He took in the mud-splattered hem of her gown, her hair blown into knots, and he laughed.

"I'm in search of a princess," he said. "You haven't seen one, have you?"

"No princesses here, Your Grace. Best look elsewhere." She grinned up at her father. Travel suited him.

"Lucky the Stark boy isn't here," King Robert said. He leapt down from his horse. "He might not want to marry you, the way you look now."

"Good." Aella's smile wilted. I wish you'd been born a boy, her father had once told her, you'd make a damn better king than Joff.

"Poor lad," the King chuckled. "You're not going to to be an easy wife."

"I don't want to be his wife," she snapped.

"You'll be the lady of Winterfell someday."

She glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. "Damn Winterfell," she cried. "Damn Robb Stark and damn you for making me marry him or...or anyone at all."

She was close to treason. She'd cursed her father and her king. Aella bowed her head. The king wasn't smiling anymore. She braced herself for the blow she knew must come, but when he spoke, his voice held no anger, only sorrow and regret.

"Could I keep you in King's Landing, I would, but Robb Stark will make a good husband. I could've chosen someone twice your age or someone cruel. Gods know, the council wanted to ship you off to Highgarden to wed that crippled Tyrell."

"Why aren't we going there then?" she muttered. "If you mean to sell me, you ought to get your money's worth."

"I don't want you to be miserable, girl. The Starks will treat you better than most. And Eddard, well, he'll be a better father for you than I ever was."

Aella wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Princesses didn't cry. When she looked up, her father was saddled again. She watched him ride off. Once he was out of sight, she began marching back to the caravan. Aella wanted to forgive her father. But she couldn't. Not yet. Just as he couldn't forgive her for being born a girl. Princesses didn't become queens. We become ladies of cold, dreary castles.


The septon droned on and on, struggling to be heard over the northern wind beating the rough, pine walls of the inn. "You'll reach Winterfell before nightfall," the toothless inn keep had told them, as she'd dished gray porridge into their bowls at breakfast that morning. So soon, Aella thought. She was trapped between Joffery and Myrcella on a hard, splintered bench. Her legs had gone numb an hour ago.

"May the Father guide us safely through the end of our long travels," the septon practically shouted. He was older than anyone deserved to be, as well as half-blind from a childhood accident. "And may the Mother smile sweetly upon the union of our beloved princess to the North." The septon turned his cloudy eyes on Aella. "We ask that she bless the young couple with many healthy children."

Joffery sniggered. Aella, cheeks flaming, narrowed her eyes at the septon. Soon, he rattled to a merciful conclusion. She was the first to rise, but Joffery caught her arm.

"Don't you want to pray a little longer?" he asked. "If I had to wed and bed a Stark, I'd want all of the help I could get."

"If a Stark had to marry you, they'd ask the Stranger to cut your bloody throat while you slept," she hissed.

"I'll be your king someday." His fingers dug into her arm, his eyes became emerald slits. "You had better learn some respect."

Aella kicked his shin. He let go, doubled over and clutched his knee.

"You aren't king yet," she said, then hurried to the door.

Aella spilled out into the yard. Her cloak whipped around her as she marched to the horses. Black as his namesake, Crow greeted her by rubbing his head against her cheek.

"Good boy," she murmured. She fished out the apple, earlier smuggled from the breakfast table, from her cloak pocket. Crow snorted. He pawed the ground until she tossed the apple into the air and caught it between his teeth.

"Shall we ride today?" she asked, stroking the horse's sleek, black mane. The princess would not ride in the wheelhouse. Winterfell before nightfall. Across the yard, Joffery was staring daggers at her. Aella swung into the saddle. At least she would soon be free of him. No more Joffery. No more mother. And she smiled.


"Behave," Lady Catelyn hissed at her children. Arya, standing in line with the rest of them, rolled her eyes.

"Best do as she says," Robb whispered. "Else she might make you dress like a proper little lady every day."

Arya scowled at her dress. Their mother had gone to great lengths to ensure that each of them was presentable enough for the royal family. Robb's new tunic was stiff and scratchy. He tugged absentmindedly at the tight collar. Little Rickon stood next to their mother, clutching her hand and sniffling in the cold. Beside him there came Bran. Then Sansa, her shoulders thrust back and her auburn hair gleaming.

Arya covered her ears against the screech of Winterfell's rising gate. "Are they here?" she practically shouted.

"Hope your princess brings along a few pretty maids," Theon said, standing behind them.

"She isn't my princess," Robb snapped. "And you'd best stay away from her ladies. Remember what father told you."

"They won't want anything to do with you, any way," Arya chirped. She craned back her neck to meet the ward's eyes.

"And why is that?" Theon asked, grinning.

"You smell," she said, wiping the grin off his lips.

Before Theon could respond, however, Sansa squealed, "Oh, I see them! Isn't that the king?"

"Where?" Bran asked, standing on tip toe for a better look. "I can't see anything."

"There, on the speckled palfrey."

"That's not the king," Arya said.

"How would you know?" Sansa said. "You've never even seen him."

"Neither have you!"

"Quiet!" Lady Catelyn said. Her voice fell over them, sharper than any executioner's blade. The Stark children and Theon Greyjoy did as they were commanded. They could now hear trumpets blaring and a great number of horses riding fast towards the ancient, northern keep. Robb stared straight ahead, through the gate, and braced himself for what would come through.

The guards arrived first in a swarm of red, white, and gold cloaks. King Robert Baratheon rode close behind them. Atop his dark, curly head rested an iron crown. He leapt from his saddle before his horse had reached a full halt. Sansa gasped, but the king was far more graceful than his ample girth suggested.

"You've gotten old," the king boomed, as he approached the Stark family.

"And you've gotten fat," Lord Eddard threw back at him. King Robert's laughter ricocheted off of Winterfell's stone walls. He pulled his old friend into a firm embrace and clapped him on the back. It was as if not a day had passed between them, though it had been nearly ten years since they'd last seen one another during the Greyjoy Rebellion.

"Cat," the king said, turning to Lady Stark. "Unlike your husband, you haven't aged a day."

"You are too kind, Your Grace."

"Now that's something I don't often hear," King Robert said.

Before any further words could be exchanged, a mammoth wheelhouse clattered through the gate. A Lannister guard swung open the door and held out his hand to a shadowy figure within. The queen emerged. Theon whistled under his breath. She truly was the beauty everyone claimed she was.

"You remember my wife," the king said when the queen joined them. Her emerald eyes were hard and haughty. She smiled at Lord and Lady Stark, but there was no warmth in it.

Eddard bowed. "Your Grace." The queen seemed hardly to notice him.

"Well, where are my royal brats?" King Robert bellowed. He strode to the wheelhouse and poked his head inside. "Out you get."

Robb clenched his fists. This was it. More than anything, he wished that Jon had been allowed to stand with them.

A boy, not much younger than Robb, stuck his blonde head out of the wheelhouse. He scrunched his nose in distaste. His eyes, cold and green as his mother's, swept over the Stark children and paused on Sansa. He smiled at her and she giggled. Next, a small boy fell out onto the cobblestones. His chubby knees scraped against the stone. When the queen moved towards him, the king threw out his arm to hold her back.

"Leave him be," he said, as the little prince rose clumsily to his feet. Neither of the princes held Robb's attention for very long. His gaze remained fixed on the wheelhouse. A girl appeared next. She was just as blonde as her brothers. Horrified, Robb gaped at her. The princess was only a child, younger than Arya. Surely they didn't expect him to marry one so young. The girl, shivering in the cold, looked so frail.

Robb's eyes darted back to the wheelhouse. There are two princesses, aren't there? He'd begun to despair, though, when another girl hopped down into the yard. Her head was bowed and her face hidden by a tumble of thick, black hair. Why does she hide her face? Does she not want to see me? Is she disfigured?

"Well, here they are," King Robert said, gesturing to his children. "Joffery, Tommen, Myrcella, and Aella."

At the sound of her name, the dark haired girl lifted her head. She certainly didn't share her mother's beauty. Her nose was piggish, her cheeks round and dusted with freckles, and her eyes a stormy blue-gray giving nothing away. But at least she was not a child. The sight of her, after so many weeks of wondering, brought Robb no ease. He was struck even harder by the fact that he didn't know her at all.

"Lady Aella." Eddard smiled at the dark haired princess. "We've heard so much about you. Welcome to Winterfell."

Aella curtsied and lost her balance. Robb reached out to steady her. When he touched her cloaked arm, she recoiled, and his hands, heavy now as two stones, fell once more to his sides. The two of them stood in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say and both staring hard at their feet.

"I'm glad you made it safely, my lady," Robb finally said.

"Thank you, my lord," the princess replied. Her voice was just as unreadable as her eyes. "It pleases me to finally meet you.

Then more silence. Robb was grateful when his father spoke again. "Come, let us move out of the cold. You must all rest and warm yourselves."

"And there is much we need to discuss," King Robert said. He cast a sideways glance at his wife and added, "In private."

The Stark children parted for the royal family. Robb and Theon fell into step behind the princesses.

"Well, at least she's not disfigured," Theon whispered.

"Shut up," Robb muttered. His betrothed tripped over one of the stone steps. This time, he did not hurry to her aide. Once she glanced back at him. Their eyes met for less than a second, which was not long enough for Robb to determine if it had been fear or loathing which he'd seen in those blue-gray depths.