"Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been."

Alodie tore back the drapes, flooding the room with sunlight. "You must carry on as normal, my lady," she said, frowning at her mistress, who'd returned to bed fully dressed after breakfast and hadn't moved again since then. It was nearing noon. Though Aella had sworn to herself she'd rise as soon as the morning nausea wore off, she'd broken her promise.

"Go out. Get some fresh air in your lungs," Alodie urged. She grabbed hold of the princess' arm and dragged her out of bed. With her hands against Aella's back, she pushed the unwilling girl out into the corridor. "I'll have a bath and some hot soup waiting for you," she said, before closing the door.

Aella heard the bolt click into place. She'd been locked out of her own room. For a long time, she glared at the door, tempted to beat her fists against it until Alodie allowed her back inside, where it was safe. But she was too tired to throw a tantrum. Instead, she shuffled down the empty corridor, admitting to herself that Alodie's advice was not altogether without merit.

The princess wandered to the stable, hoping that a ride would help to clear her head. She could leave Winterfell and its ghosts behind her for awhile. She walked slowly. Her body felt twice as heavy as normal. She put a hand over her stomach, where the stone had lodged. That's what she called the child, the stone.

Alodie had called the child a gift from the gods, but to Aella it was a curse. More than once it had crossed her mind that the gods were punishing her for keeping her family's secrets. Last night she'd dreamt that she was the assassin, standing over Bran's bed with her uncle's dagger raised over his pale, troubled face. Just as she'd begun to lower the blade, Summer flew through the window. Even now, awake, she could feel the direwolves' teeth ripping into her flesh.

How could she carry on as normal? Her mother was a child killer. Her beloved uncle...No, Aella wouldn't believe him capable of such a crime. There had to be another explanation as to how his dagger had fallen into the assassin's hands.

As Aella crossed the courtyard, she suddenly felt she was being watched. She was accustomed to the feeling. Back home, in King's Landing, there was nowhere to go without eyes at your back, but in Winterfell, once her family had gone, she'd been able to move more freely, with no one to monitor her comings and goings. When she reached the stable, she glanced over her shoulder. Two Stark men were sparring nearby, but neither of them paid her the least bit of attention. Perhaps it's the gods, she thought, turning back around.

Crow greeted her by tossing his head against the stall gate. Aella pressed her cheek to his sleek, muscled neck and tangled her fingers in his mane. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't forget about you, friend." The black steed accepted her apology with a snort that stirred her hair. The horse's breath was warm and oaty. She smiled for the first time since learning of the stone in her belly.

Sitting astride Crow's broad back, his muscles tautening against her legs, Aella felt more like herself than she had in many days. "Run," she whispered into the horse's ear. "Run as fast as you can." Crow did not need to be told again. They flew across the yard, through the gate, straight towards the Wolfswood. Aella pressed her body to the horse's neck until there wasn't a hair's breadth of space between them.

Theon had to admit it, the princess was a damn good rider. Her steed was slender and lithe, darting through the trees like a shadow. Every now and then, he lost sight of her, but he'd follow the sound of hooves until he spotted her long, black hair flying like a banner behind her. Robb had said to leave her be. Bugger that, Theon thought, urging his horse on.

If he were in charge of Winterfell, if it'd been his brother the Lannisters had tried to kill, then Aella Baratheon would be rotting in a cell, not roaming the Wolfswood. Perhaps she was meeting another assassin or sending secrets back to her bitch mother. Robb was a fool for allowing her such freedom, given what they now knew. Still, fool or not, Theon would have no harm come to his friend, his brother.

The princess had vanished again, but Theon wasn't worried. He halted to listen and heard only the wind rattling through the trees. Shadows chased each other across the leafy forest floor.

"Are you following me?"

Theon pulled his horse around and found the princess standing on foot behind him. "Well?" she demanded, glaring up at him. He'd been caught red-handed by a girl, but still, he wouldn't be intimidated by some royal bitch. Winterfell was his home, not hers. Let Robb play the cautious diplomat. Such was not the way of the Ironborn.

"It's not safe to be out alone, my lady," Theon said. "There could be another assassin traveling these woods. You wouldn't want to come across him or her."

Aella's lips curled in defiance, his implication not having been lost on her. Wearing that expression, she resembled her mother. "Odd to send a prisoner in search of assassins. The Starks myst trust you a great deal."

"I'm no prisoner," Theon snapped.

"My mistake, do you prefer to be called a hostage?"

Theon's blood boiled. How dare she call him a prisoner when it was she who ought to be put in chains? He leapt down from his horse and closed the distance between them. Aella held her ground. She curled her fists at her sides, ready to use them.

"Be careful what you do, my lord," she warned, meeting his steely gaze without flinching.

"Why? What're you going to do? Push me from a tower? Hire an assassin to slit my throat while I'm sleeping?"

"Perhaps," Aella said, her anger overcoming her sense. "Follow me again and you'll find out." She turned to go, but Theon caught hold of her arm. His fingers bit into her flesh, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of even so much as wincing from the pain. "Unhand me," she growled.

Theon smirked. It would be easy enough to get rid of her. Robb didn't have the stomach for such things. My father would kill her, he thought. He'd offer her up to the Drowned God. Yet it wasn't his father's voice that he now heard, but rather it was Lord Stark's- a man without honor is a man with nothing. Killing a girl certainly wasn't honorable, even if she was a bloody Lannister.

Distracted by his inner turmoil, he didn't see the princess' fist until it struck hard against his nose. He let go of her, his hands flying to his nose. Blood gushed between his fingers. Aella wasted no time. She darted into the trees and was soon swallowed by the shadows.

Theon did not follow her this time. He cupped his broken nose until it ceased bleeding, all the while swearing to himself that the bitch would pay for what she'd done. As he rode back to Winterfell, it was not his nose that pained him most. It was his pride that had taken the greatest blow.

Robb remained in his father's seat long after the Great Hall had finally emptied out. For hours he'd listened to the complaints of the smallfolk. So and so stole so and so's cow. So and so fucked so and so's wife. So and so farted at so and so's dinner table and refused to apologize. Most of their grievances were petty and the young lord found it a struggle to keep awake. Never had he imagined that being Lord of Winterfell would be so very tedious. He longed only for a hot supper and a hot bath. Having people kneel at his feet all day brought him little pleasure.

Sitting alone in the Great Hall, he missed Jon more than ever. He remembered wrestling with his brother in the muddy yard, climbing trees in the Wolfswood, playing at being knights. Where had those days of carefree summer gone? Now he was forced to listen to dozens of complaints, while his own troubles piled around him.

Sighing, he rose. It'd been too long since he'd last checked on Bran. Despite the guards posted at his brother's door, Robb worried constantly that somehow another Lannister assassin would breach Winterfell.

He hadn't yet stepped off of the dais, however, when the princess stormed into the hall. "How dare you?" she cried, marching straight towards him. Her words shot across the room, an arrow propelled by pure fury. "How dare you send you...your dog to spy on me?"

"My what?" Robb asked, gaping at her.

"The Greyjoy," she snapped, stopping short at the foot of the dais. Robb grimaced. The next time he saw Theon, he'd strangle him.

"I didn't send anyone to do anything," he said. "Why would I?"

"Because you..." She stopped suddenly. In a moment, her anger seemed to dissipate. Feign ignorance, Alodie had cautioned. You're a sweet princess and nothing more, she'd said. But sweet princesses didn't break people's noses. She should have ignored the Greyjoy and she certainly shouldn't have come to her husband in such a rage.

"Because?" Robb pressed.

"I...I don't know," she lied feebly. Robb's eyes narrowed. In his mind, he saw the assassin's bloody dagger, and he wondered why the princess would assume she was being followed if she had nothing to hide.

"Where did you go?" he asked. The question rekindled her anger.

"I don't have to tell you."

"I'm your husband, so you do, my lady."

Aella looked at him as though he'd slapped her, which he might as well have. He had ignored her. He had been cold, but that she could forgive. Until now, though, he'd never claimed any ownership over her. All her life she'd taken orders. All it had ever brought her was misery. This stupid boy has no power over me, she thought. The stone in her belly seemed to harden.

She remembered the murderous glint in Theon Greyjoy's eyes. The bruises he'd left on her arm throbbed, but the pain strengthened her. At last, she accepted the truth of Alodie's words. Tyrion was safe at the Wall. Her mother was safe in King's Landing. It was her they'd left behind in the wolf's den and the stone was her only weapon. It was time she used it.

"I'm with-" Aella began.

"My lord!" Maester Luwin's voice rang out across the Hall. The young couple turned to him as he hurried towards them. As he neared, Robb brushed past his wife.

"It's Bran," the maester said, causing Aella's heart to leap.

"He isn't-?" Robb could not bring himself to finish the question. He gripped the old man's robed shoulders.

"No, no," Maester Luwin said, a smile spreading across his lips. "Your brother is awake. He is well."

Robb, forgetting about his wife entirely, ran from the room. Aella, however, was too stunned to move. Her confession now turned to ash in her mouth. Thank the gods, she thought, relief coursing through her, but then it struck her what Bran's waking could mean. All this time she'd prayed and prayed for him to return. Until now, she had not considered the possibility that he might remember what had happened the day he fell.

If he did, Aella suspected she would know soon enough, come better or worse.