"You may be different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through bot your hearts."
Bran's small face was pale against the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling, where the shadows fluttered like raven's wings. He'd dreamt of a raven. It'd had three eyes. Somehow, the dream had felt more real than the world he now found himself in.
"What's wrong with him?" Robb whispered. He and Master Luwin stood huddled by the window. Even so, Bran could hear them as if they were directly beside the bed.
"He's been asleep for a long time, my lord," Maester Luwin said.
"But why won't he speak?"
I don't want to, that's why, Bran thought. He could if he wanted to, but walking was another matter. As soon as he'd dropped back into his body, he'd known something was wrong with his legs. He tapped his fingers against them and felt nothing. They were two slabs of heavy stone.
"He's likely in shock," Luwin went on. "We don't know where his mind has been all these weeks." They wouldn't understand where he'd gone, even if he could explain to them. Sometimes he'd been in Winterfell, where the three eyed raven came to him, but for most of it, he'd been in darkness, adrift on a never ending and moonless night. Still tapping his legs, he wished he could go back to that place.
"Do you think he remembers the fall?" Robb asked. Bran's hand fell still.
"If he does, then he will tell us when he's ready," Maester Luwin said.
"And how long will that be?"
"These things take time, my lord."
"We don't have time." Robb's voice spiked. "Theon swears that the princess was sneaking off to meet someone today. What if-"
"I would not trust all that Theon Greyjoy tells you," Luwin interrupted. "He means well, but his eyes are oft misguided by pride."
Bran didn't understand what they were talking about, but at the mention of the princess, he remembered that he'd been waiting for her at the Broken Tower. She'd been in his dreams as well. He'd heard her screaming and, certain she was being killed, he'd gone to save her. The three eyed raven had been with him.
"I must speak with her," Robb said.
"Your mother urged caution." Maester Luwin's robes hissed over the rug as he shuffled after Robb, marching towards the door.
"If she knows something, I'll-" Robb said.
"You will what?"
"I'll make her tell me. I'm her husband. She must give me the truth."
"Her husband?" Maester Luwin said. "There's more to being a husband than reciting a few words before the heart tree. Since that girl arrived, you've hardly made her feel welcome."
Robb bowed his head under the maester's stern gaze. "Can't we just send her home?" he muttered.
No, Bran thought, but didn't say. He struggled harder to remember his dream, feeling that it was important without knowing why.
"And risk insulting the king?" Maester Luwin said.
"Father would make him understand. She doesn't belong here. She's not a Stark. I don't care what you, Mother, or even the king has to say about it. I won't put my brothers at risk having her here."
A draft from the corridor rushed over Bran's face when Robb flung open the door. The dream returned to him in wisps. He'd followed the princess' screams down the the crypt...
"Where are you going?" Maester Luwin asked.
"To tell Lady Aella that she must leave," Robb said.
"She is with child," Luwin declared. At those words, Bran remembered everything. Suddenly, he felt the cold, damp air of the crypts seeping into his lungs. He closed his eyes and relived the dream. Aella no longer screamed. He found her in an open burial vault with a naked, dark-haired babe, coated with birth-blood, cradled in her lap.
"You see," Maester Luwin said, "she can't leave. Regardless her loyalties, she carries a Stark in her womb. Your heir."
A naked, dark-haired baby, Bran thought, a shiver running down his spine.
"What do I do?" Robb asked, his voice small now as a child's.
"Gods know the princess has been shown little kindness in her lifetime," Maester Luwin said. "So be kind to her. Earn her loyalty. You can't expect her to give it freely."
The two of them moved out into the corridor. Once the door closed behind them, Bran could hear no more of their conversation. He began tapping his leg again, consumed by thoughts of his dream and all he'd just heard. Surely it was mere coincidence that he'd dreamt of the dark-haired child. It had to be. Otherwise, he feared what the dream meant.
Robb stared at his wife's door. He knew not how long he'd stood there. Twice he'd raised his fist to knock, but lost his courage at the last moment. Perhaps Maester Luwin is mistaken, he thought, though he'd never known the man to be wrong about anything before. No, the princess was most certainly with child, and Robb knew what that meant. To send her home now would mean providing the Lannisters with a direct claim to the north. They would have the rightful heir of Winterfell caught in their claws.
He raised his fist for a third time, knowing that if he allowed himself anymore time to think, he'd never do what needed to be done. Robb rapped his knuckles against the oak. From inside the room, he heard the whispered voices of women, and was about to knock again when the blot clicked and the door swung open. The princess' handmaiden stood firmly on the threshold. He waited for her to step aside, but she did not.
"Apologies, my lord," she said. "Her highness is not feeling well."
Robb tried to steal a glimpse around her. The maid shifted to block his view. "Tell her it's urgent," he said.
"Come back tomorrow, my lord. For now, I must insist that you-"
"Alodie, it's alright," the princess said from inside the room. Her maid's lips pursed as she eyed Robb for a moment longer. He squared his shoulders under her scrutiny. After all, this was his home, yet somehow, the blonde girl's gaze made him feel like an intruder. Though she stepped aside, she kept her distrusting eyes on him. Aella rose from her seat by the window and curtsied.
"Leave us," she said, looking to her maid.
"M'lady, I don't-"
"Go on," the princess said. They held one another's eyes for a minute and Robb felt something intangible pass between them. The maid looked away first. She cast Robb one last scathing glance before exiting the room. After she'd gone, they young couple was left alone with only the crackling of the fire to fill the silence.
Feeling suddenly warm, Robb tugged at his collar. He noticed the cyvasse board on the table, the pieces where they'd left them nights ago. He moved to the table and set the board. "Sit," he said. Aella perched on the edge of the seat across the table. "You first," he said, nodding at the board. Dutifully, she slid one of her rabble a space ahead.
Neither of them spoke. Soon, Robb had captured her crossbowman, light horse, and catapult. She hardly even looked at the board when she made her moves. He watched her nudge her trebuchet to the left, leaving her king vulnerable. All he had to do to win was move his dragon vertically five spaces.
His wife's face was turned to the fire, away from him, and he wondered what thoughts churned behind those storm blue eyes. She glanced at the board and asked, "Well, are you going to take my king?"
It struck Robb that all of it was a game, even their marriage, especially their marriage, and he didn't know how to play. He didn't so much as know the rules. He closed his fist around the wooden king, but did not take it. "I know about the baby," he said, watching for her reaction. Her hands flew to her stomach. The gesture was confirmation enough of Maester Luwin's words.
"For how long?" she asked.
"I could ask you the same," he snapped, losing his temper at how she just sat there, giving nothing away. She was an absolute mystery to him and he was tired of mysteries, of lies, of the game. "Who are you?"
"Your wife," she said, staring at her lap. Robb slammed the wooden king against the board. The pieces went rolling across the table. His wife flinched, but her mask didn't waver.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"I don't know what you-"
"Gods be damned, just tell me the truth!" He leapt to his feet and flung the wooden king across the room. It rolled over the stone, only coming to a stop when it hit the bedpost. Aella's head snapped up. Her mask had cracked. An angry flush rose to her cheeks and her piggish nose flared.
"Who do you think I am?" she cried. "Ever since I came here, you've hated me, and for what? What have I done to you? Nothing, yet you blame me for what you think my family's done to yours."
"I do what?" Robb asked, his eyes growing wide. Aella's hands went to her mouth, as if she were trying to push the words she'd just said back down her throat, but it was too late. "Who told you?"
"No one," she lied.
"Who-?"
"I overheard you in the godswood. I know your mother isn't in Riverrun. I know you think the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn, and pushed Bran from that tower, and then sent the assassin to finish the job." She paused for breath. Her body sagged against the back of the chair. When she spoke again, there was no rage left in her voice, only heaviness. "I know you think I've some part in it all."
"Do you?" Robb asked.
"I'd never hurt your brother." She turned her face back to the fire "He's the only friend I had among you Starks." A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. Robb remembered how hot her tears had been, falling against the back of his neck that night in the godswood. She'd come to him in one of his darkest hour, despite how he'd treated her, despite that they were strangers, and, out of pride, he'd never thanked her or asked why. If she is my enemy, he thought, perhaps I have made her so.
"I didn't mean to make you cry," Robb said, now ashamed of his outburst.
"You didn't," she said, stubborn, but sniffling.
"I believe you, about Bran. I never should have...You care for him. I don't doubt that, my lady." He fell back into his chair, buried his face in his hands for a moment, and when he looked up again, he caught her staring at him with a pensive countenance.
"Neither of us asked for this," he said. "Neither of us wanted this marriage." She'd told him so herself on the eve of their wedding. Robb had not forgotten. Regardless what either of them desired, she was his wife, in sight of the old gods and the new, and she carried his child. They were now bound by blood, as well as word, and as Theon had said, blood took care of its own.
"I don't wish for us to be enemies, my lady," he said. Aella inspected him for a moment, searching his expression for deceit. Then the corner of her lip lifted into a weary half smile.
"Do you think it possible for us to be anything else?" she asked.
Robb didn't know. Trusting her would not be easy. Nor could he continue living in a constant state of doubt. She was his, he was hers, and the child she carried was the seal between them.
