"So be it. I'll wear my iron and hold my tongue."

The sky above was a seamless ceiling of steel gray. "It'll snow tonight," Robb said. The pitted road was only just wide enough for the young couple to ride side by side. Aella tilted her face up to the sky, but could not look into that vast emptiness for long. Winter Town was nestled at the base of the hill they now descended. It was much smaller than she'd expected.

"I've never seen snow," she said.

"Surely it snowed in King's Landing last winter."

"I suppose it did, but we weren't allowed to go out in it." She remembered the winter of her childhood as a string of long, miserable days cooped inside the castle, hiding from Joffery and his pack of vicious little lords and knights' sons.

"Why not?" Robb asked.

"Maester Pycelle says that you can catch the cold and it will kill you quicker than poison," she stated matter-of-factly.

"That's a load of horseshit," Robb snorted. He was instantly horrified by his words. Were his mother present, she'd have slapped him for using such language in front of a lady. "Apologies," he muttered.

"For what?"

"For speaking so...for saying-"

"Horse shit?" Aella finished for him. "I've heard worse. You forget who my father is."

They said no more as they entered Winter Town. The streets were deserted. Most of the farmers were still ploughing their frozen fields and living in their distant holdfasts. Soon they would flock to the town, but for now, only some hundred residents resided there.

A lone drunkard, red faced and stringy haired, staggered down the middle of the street. As they rode past, his blackened fingers curled around Aella's ankle. She let out a shriek and reared back her foot to kick him.

"Here," Robb said. The drunkard let go of Aella to catch the silver coin that his lord tossed him.

"Most thanks, m'lord," the man said, bowing clumsily.

"Buy yourself a hot meal." Robb's voice was stern, but not without sympathy. "Men cannot live on drink alone."

"Yes, m'lord. Wise words. Very wise."

"He won't buy food," Aella said, once the drunkard had wandered on. Uncle Jamie had once told her that men such as that would sell their own children into slavery for a drop of wine.

"What he does is his own business, but if he starves to death tonight, the guilt will not be on my conscious," Robb said.

In King's Landing, if a beggar had ever dared to touch her, Uncle Jamie would not have been so charitable. He'd have probably cut off the man's hand, Aella thought, glad her husband had not gone that far. Still, it was foolish to waste good money on a hopeless cause.

Robb halted in the muddy yard of a crooked, two story hovel. All of the windows were tightly curtained, not a sliver of light shining through. Aella leapt down from her horse and stared up at those dark windows, wondering which one her uncle was behind.

A plump woman with rouged cheeks greeted them at the door. She exuded a sickly sweet smell. When she smiled, Aella saw that her teeth were yellowed and broken.

"The little lord of Winterfell," she said, her voice surprisingly girlish. "It's been sometime since you graced us with you presence."

"We're here to see the Lannister," Robb said brusquely, his cheeks flaming.

"Of course, m'lord. I'll take you to him." The woman's eyes darted curiously to Aella for a moment, before she retreated into the brothel.

The princess hesitated to follow. She turned her panicked eyes to Robb. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure she had the strength to do what she'd come to do.

"Go on," Robb said, nudging her towards the door. "I'll be back for you in an hour."

Aella took a deep breath. She had to be brave. She had to know the truth, come what may. Her head held high, the princess entered the whore house alone.

The whore was fair haired, gap toothed, and cried out "my lord, my lord" in the sweetest way. What more could Tyrion ask for? He much preferred the comforts of the town brothel to the dreary hospitality of Winterfell. Yet it troubled him greatly that he'd not seen Aella. After all, he'd sent ahead word of his arrival and had expected his niece to be eagerly awaiting him at the gate. He was also troubled by the Stark boy's none too subtle animosity.

"My lord?" The whore's cold fingers grazed his cheek. "Have I displeased you?"

"No, my dear," Tyrion said, kissing her brow, before rolling off of her. For once it seemed that not even fucking could serve to distract him.

"Then what's the matter, my lord?"

"Nothing that concerns you, sweet girl. Go on, dress yourself." The bed creaked when she stood. Tyrion stared up at the ceiling while she dressed. "Have some wine sent up," he ordered.

"Yes, my lord," the whore said. Once she'd gone, Tyrion moved to the window and peaked through the heavy curtains. It was too dark to see Winterfell now, but he knew it was there. He thought about returning for what felt like the hundredth time. If the Starks have harmed a single hair on Aella's head, I'll kill them all. Well, he'd have Jamie kill them at least.

But why would they have cause to hurt the princess? Unless...the crippled boy, he thought, massaging his throbbing temples. Tyrion had his suspicions about Bran's accident. The whole mess stunk of Cersei's doing. While Tyrion could not fight like his brother, or whisper sweet words into powerful men's ears as his sister, he was blessed with the talent of reading people as easily as he read his books. It was Cersei's concern for the Stark boy that had given her away. It was no secret she hated the Starks, so then why had she visited the boy so often and urged them all to pray, unless she were compensating for some ill deed of her own.

Let the queen play her games. Tyrion had never bothered to involve himself in his sister's affairs. "My dear brother," Jamie had said to him on the morning they departed Winterfell, "there are times you make me wonder whose side you're on." There were times when Tyrion wondered the same.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Enter," he said, without bothering to turn round, assuming it was a servant with the wine.

"Uncle?"

Tyrion was sure he'd imagined his niece's voice, but when he looked to the door, there she was, hurrying towards him. Aella fell to her knees at his feet, wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Oh, I've missed you," she said. Tyrion clasped her face between his hands. Her cheeks were cold as ice. She looked pale and her eyes shone with tears.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Tell me you didn't come alone. A whore house is-"

"No place for a proper lady," she said. "So I've been told, but I thought you'd be glad to see me."

"Of course I am, little bird." He brushed a tear from her cheek.

Aella sat back on her heels. "I thought you'd forgotten me."

"Never. The journey took longer than expected. It's begun snowing further north. I fear we've brought winter back with us." He paused to inspect her. She looked troubled. He knew his niece even better than his sister. "But I take it you're not here to discuss the weather. Are you well? Have the Starks mistreated you?"

"No, they've..." Aella faltered. She didn't want to ask about the dagger. Instead, she wanted to rest her head in his lap and listen to his stories until she fell asleep, as it had been when she was a child. She wanted the simplicity of those days, but the longer she looked at him, the more nagging her doubts became.

"What is it?" Tyrion pressed.

"Mother wants Bran dead," she blurted. A damn burst inside of her. All the words she'd locked up came flooding out. "I saw her in the tower that day. She pushed him. I know she did."

Tyrion sighed, but he did not appear shocked by her confession.

"You knew?" Aella said, horrified.

"I suspected," he corrected.

"Is that all you've done? Or did you play some part in this?"

"Why would I wish to harm the boy?" Tyrion asked, pained by her accusation.

"Someone sent an assassin to finish the job." Aella was pacing now. "They carried your dagger. The one I gave you. Valyrian steel with a dragon bone hilt."

"I remember the one," Tyrion said, frowning. "I lost it in a bet with Littlefinger on Joff's last nameday. It was a gift and I shouldn't have, but who could've guessed that Loras Tyrell would unseat our dear Jamie?"

Aella stilled. She remembered the tourney well and had been just as stunned as everyone else at Jamie's loss.

"You believe me, don't you," Tyrion said after a moment. Aella nodded again. She knelt at his feet once more.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking his hands. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"No, you shouldn't have." He smiled at her nonetheless. "But we must ask ourselves, if I did not supply the dagger, then who did?"

"Mother," Aella hissed. Tyrion was not so certain. Certainly, Cersei detested her brother as much as the Starks, but to frame him for the murder of a child would mean dragging the Lannister name through the mud, which not even the queen dared to do. Whoever had given the dagger to the assassin had surely meant for it to be traced back to him. Otherwise non-valyrian steel would've sufficed just fine.

"Perhaps," Tyrion said. "Perhaps not. How much do the Starks know?"

"Some. They suspect the Lannisters. Lady Stark is in the capital now. She's gone to find the owner of the dagger."

"Apparently she need not have left home," he teased. Aella's expression remained stern.

"It's no laughing matter. If they discover-"

"We shall cross that bridge once we reach it," Tyrion said. "It is you who I'm most concerned about.

"No harm will come to me."

"You can't be sure of that, little bird."

"I can." Aella stood again. She folded her hands over her stomach and looked to the curtained window. "I'm with child." Her voice sounded to come from a great distance. Of all she'd told him tonight, Tyrion found himself most shocked by this confession. How could she be with child when she was just a child herself?

"Oh, Uncle," she sighed, her bottom lip trembling. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Do nothing," Tyrion told her. It was the safest thing she could do. "Don't go poking around in this mess. The less you know, the better it will be for you when the Starks uncover the truth, and I've no doubt they will."

"But I-"

"No, little bird, you don't want to know. Be a wife to Robb Stark. You aren't a Lannister anymore."

Though Aella knew his words to be true, she was not comforted in the least. If she was no longer a Lannister, no longer a Baratheon, then who was she? Robb had cloaked her on their wedding day, but that did not make her a Stark.

"What will you do?" she asked her uncle.

"Worry not about me. People tend to underestimate dwarves, but they should not."

Aella did not underestimate her uncle. Still, she would not stop worrying about him. She embraced him once more, this time with no doubts in her heart to spoil the moment. Tyrion stroked her hair like he would a child's, wishing he could take her away.

There was much he now had to consider. He cared little about his reputation, but he was rather fond of his life, and the Starks would no doubt have his head if they thought him behind the assassination attempts. There were powerful forces at work in the kingdoms. The snows blew southward. Winter was coming, as was something else, something Tyrion dreaded, but could not name.

Robb declined the brothel matron's offer to wait for the princess inside. He didn't want to risk crossing paths with the Imp. The snow, which had begun in gentle flurries soon after he'd parted ways with his wife, now fell fast and hard. It was not like the feathery snows of spring, rather the icy flakes stung his cheeks. Winter snow, he thought.

The princess' horse was not pleased by the weather. The beast tossed its great head from side to side and pawed at the ground. Robb let go of his own well-mannered destrier's reins in order to restrain his wife's horse. "It's alright," he murmured, putting his hand against the horse's neck. "It's only snow, boy." But the beast would not be soothed. It rose onto its hind legs and Robb lost hold of the reins. He leapt back just before the horse's front hooves struck down where he'd just been standing.

The horse circled him a few times, before fleeing. Robb made a desperate lunge. His fingers grazed the horse's tail. He landed hard on his elbows, grateful for the thin cushion of snow that broke his fall. The horse soon vanished from sight, though he glared after it for sometime after.

"What are you doing?" the princess asked, towering above him.

"Your horse," Robb muttered. "He fled. I tried to stop him." He waited for her to fly into one of her rages. How dare you lose my horse, he expected her to say. Instead, she offered her hand to him.

"He'll beat us to Winterfell," she said. "I guess he's not too fond of the snow."

"No, I guess not," Robb said, shaking the snow from his cloak. "We should return before the weather worsens."

Aella nodded. Snow caught in her dark lashes faster than she could blink the flakes away. She glanced back to the brothel. The light from the lantern over the door illuminated her face. To Robb, she looked as though someone she loved had just died. He cleared his throat and she tore her eyes from the second story windows.

Robb was already in the saddle. He lowered down his hand, but she did not move to take it. His horse was much larger than Crow. It was a war horse, like her father's, and girls did not ride war horses.

"I could walk," she said, eyeing the horse nervously. The wind tore at her cloak, sending it swirling behind her. Robb caught a glimpse of her boots before she'd pulled the cloak tightly around her once more. They certainly hadn't been made with snow in mind.

"You'll get the black foot if you do," he said. "In those shoes."

"Then you could walk," she threw back at him. Robb didn't respond. He kept his hand held out to her, waiting.

"What's his name?" she asked. "Northerners do name their mounts, don't they?"

"We do. His name's North Star."

Aella almost laughed. Of course it is, she thought. Seeing no other option, she took her husband's hand, gripped the saddle horn with the other, and slid her foot into the stirrup. It was no easy feat navigating her limbs into their proper places. She hadn't ridden double since she'd been a girl of seven.

Once in the saddle, she leaned forward, away from her husband. Robb urged the destrier forward. Though Aella could not see more than a foot ahead of them, North Star seemed to know the way.

"Did you have enough time with the...with your uncle?" Robb asked once they'd left Winter Town behind them.

"Yes," she lied. Thousands of years would not have been long enough, but she'd gotten what she'd most needed from him and hoped she could rest easy that night knowing her beloved uncle was no child murderer. "He's leaving in the morning. You won't need to worry about him anymore, my lord."

Robb burned to know what they'd discussed, but refrained from asking. If things were ever to work between him and his wife, he'd have to show that he trusted her, even if he did not.

Their journey back was slow and, for Aella, painful. At every hoof-fall, the saddle horn pressed against her stomach. Bit by bit, she slid further back into the saddle, until she felt her husband's warmth upon her back. Suddenly, the matron's words drifted across her mind. It's been awhile since you graced us with your presence. Her cheeks flamed and she was glad he couldn't see.

"How much do you think it will snow?" she asked, to distract herself from unwanted thoughts and their present closeness to one another.

"A good bit," Robb said, his breath hot on her neck. "You'll have to take Bran out tomorrow. He enjoys the snow."

"I don't think I've the right clothes for it." She shivered even as she spoke. Though the queen had ordered a new wardrobe made for her, the tailors in King's Landing had greatly underestimated the cold of the north, and no one had thought to have new shoes made for her. It'd been so long since the last winter that everyone in the south had forgotten such things as snow existed.

"Sansa left some dresses behind," Robb said. The princess was four years older than his sister, but close in size to the younger girl, who was tall for her age. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you borrowed them. At least until we have some proper garments made for you."

"I'll write her and ask."

Robb chuckled. "You'll freeze before the raven reaches her. Trust me, my lady, if she cared about the gowns, she'd have taken them with her."

"She's to marry my brother, did you know?"

"I know," he said, sounding none to pleased.

"She'll be queen."

"Are you jealous? Would you rather be a queen than the lady of Winterfell?"

"I don't want to be either," Aella admitted. Then, after a moment, she added, "But I'd rather be here than with Joffery. You shouldn't let your sister marry him."

"It's not my decision."

"No, but when your mother returns, you should speak to her about the matter."

"Or you could," Robb said. "After all, Joffery is your brother."

"Your mother isn't entirely fond of me." Aella shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "She thinks I'm a spy, remember?" They fell silent. Robb hadn't given much thought to what would happen upon his mother's return. She certainly wouldn't be happy that he'd allowed the princess a private audience with her uncle. It doesn't matter what she thinks, he thought, glaring at the falling snow. She left.

"Maybe I will speak to her," Aella said, thinking of the dreamy-eyed Stark girl. Joffery would destroy her. With things as they now stood between the Starks and Lannisters, it would be even more disastrous for Sansa to wed Joffery.

"Why would you do that for my sister?" Robb asked. She looked at him over her shoulder. Their noses were mere inches apart and her voice was pure steel when she spoke.

"They sold me off to you like I'm nothing, but compared to what Sansa and my brother's marriage will be, ours is a fairy tale." Then she turned back around. Her braid whipped across Robb's face. Silence consumed them yet again.

Aella's eyelids grew heavy. Despite the discomforts of the cold, she began to drift off. While her heart ached at having to part with her uncle for a second time, she felt more at peace than she had in many weeks. It had been a long day, an even longer month, and she couldn't remember when she'd last slept through the night. Now she slipped into a soft, black slumber. Her head dropped to her shoulder. Her body slumped against Robb's.

"My lady?" he said. The only answer was her slow, steady breaths. When she tilted sideways in the saddle, he looped his arm around her waist to keep her from falling. For a moment, he considered waking her, but then thought of what she'd just said. They sold me off to you like I'm nothing...Those words struck at his heart. He decided to let her sleep, feeling it would be cruel to bring her back to their shared nightmare.

Alodie lowered her hood over her eyes, to shield them from the icy flakes of snow. The spider had brought her to Westeros during the last winter. Then, she'd thought that the snow was a plague, cast by the Great Other. She'd believed that the Lord of Light had abandoned this part of the world, but she'd long since given up the gods of her childhood. Nor did she hold faith with the gods of this land. "The only gods are men," the spider once told her. "And what fickle gods they are."

Plague or not, though, she despised the snow. The princess had not been the only one who hadn't wanted to come north. Alodie had begged the spider not to send her. You've other birds in the north already, she'd said. It was one of those very birds which she now waited for in a narrow alley behind the inn.

She'd followed the princess and her young husband into Winter Town and parted ways with them at the brothel, once she'd determined that the Stark boy meant her mistress no harm. She'd watched Aella enter the brothel alone, before scurrying off to the designated meeting place.

Alodie knew not who she waited for. It could be any number of her master's birds. Old or young, bald or hooded, man or woman, she would know them when she saw them. The spider's web extended further than even she knew. His birds flew to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms and far beyond. She was one among a flock of thousands, but at least she belonged to a flock at all. Before, she'd had no one, no mother, no one to care if she lived or died, but the spider had fed her, clothed her, given her a position in the royal household. Without him, she would be dead, or worse.

Still, when he'd ordered her to go north, Alodie realized what she should have known all along. The spider had not plucked her from the sewers of a faraway land to save her. Spiders did not love birds. Nor did masters love their slaves.

A small boy emerged from the shadows. He wore no shoes and no cloak. His pants came only to his knees, but he didn't seem affected by the cold. "The spider sends his greetings."

"What else does he send?" Alodie asked. She was eager to return to the castle, where a fire would be waiting for her.

"A request," the boy said. "He asks that the child be taken care of."

"The child?"

"The princess' wolf pup must not be born."

"Why?" Alodie demanded, grabbing the boy's shirt when he made to slip away.

"The spider does not say why. This is his command. We will be watching." He slid out of her grasp, as if he were made from water, and vanished into the dark. Alodie no longer felt the cold. All along, she'd known this day would come, when she'd be forced to chose between her master or her mistress.

Princesses and birds cannot be family either, she thought. You mustn't forget what you are or who made you. Keeping her head bowed against the snow, she made her way back to the brothel, waited for the princess and her husband to depart, and then went to the door. After one knock, the red-faced matron appeared.

"If you're looking for a job, we don't have no room," the woman snapped.

"That's not why I've come," Alodie said. If anyone had the means to rid the world of an unwanted child, it would be the whores.