'Cella, may I come in?' asked Sansa sweetly, and Cella put down her book, turning to the peeping red head at her door.

'Of course,' she acquiesced, standing to pull up another chair by the fire for her adoptive sister. Her solar was a cold room, one of the coldest in Winterfell, but Cella refused to move to a warmer one, because this room had a view out over the main courtyard. She liked the hustle and bustle of the traders and soldiers below: it reminded her of home, King's Landing and its myriad inhabitants and visitors.

'Lovely day,' her guest said sweetly.

Cella could only hum an agreement, as she hadn't been outside to enjoy the frosty sunshine. She sniffed quietly, hoping the rosewater had covered the smell well enough that Sansa wouldn't notice it.
There was a long silence, which Cella felt guilty about: she hated herself for being so rude to Sansa, who had been nothing but good to her since they arrived in Winterfell.

'Are you quite alright, Cella?' Sansa probed gently, stretching across the gap between them and placing her hand on Cella's. 'No one has seen you all day- you haven't even come down for meals.'

Cella coughed to clear the nervous lump in her throat.

'I'm fine, Sansa, really,' she assured her, in an utterly un-assuring voice.

'You're not, Cella, I know you,' sighed Sansa, 'You used to ride nearly every day, and come for walks and laugh with the men- and now…'

'Has anyone else noticed?' Cella asked almost frantically, with the sudden realisation that hiding herself wasn't as subtle as she had hoped.

'Well, Ned Karstark has asked me about you,' she replied aloofly. Lady Catelyn had been trying to set Cella up with the young nobleman for months, and Cella thought he was kind and good fun- but love wasn't really the first thing on her mind.

'But your lady mother- she's not worried is she?'

Sansa looked at her friend suspiciously, 'You know she's worried, as much as I.'

Suddenly Myrcella convulsed, bending double and clutching her stomach through her loose gown.

'Cella- oh gods, are you-' Sansa was kneeling at her side instantly.

'I… I'm fine,' Cella panted, but she couldn't stop herself from letting out a deep groan. 'It can't be,' she muttered to herself, 'It's only been five…'

'Cella,' Sansa gasped in a hollow voice, 'Are you… Did he…?'

Cella was crying, thick, hot tears drawing lines down her face, and she never cried. Never. Sansa grabbed her face between the palms of her hands, dragging Cella's head to face hers.

'Tell me the truth, Cella,' she said, in a growling voice much more forceful than Sansa's usual, light tone, 'Are you… With child?'

Cella's raised her eyes, red with tears, and simply nodded.

…

Robb tossed in the bed, sticky hot sheets clinging to his naked flesh. It was too hot in the south, especially on stuffy summer nights like this. He longed for winter and the north, the cosiness of Winterfell's steaming walls and the biting air outside.

It would not be long now until he went home. The war in the south had calmed and the reports from the north- from his brother, Lord Commander Snow- were dire; so he was heading north with his men to protect his homeland.

He would be lying if he said he didn't miss Cella, but he was pleased that most of the time he was able to miss her company, her laughter and her brutal riding. She had promised to stop loving him so he was trying to stop loving her- and most of the time he was doing well. It was only in the quiet of sleep, alone in his tent, that he longed for the touch of her, the gentle panting, the pressure of her mouth against his. The phantom of her kiss had never really left him, and in the wee hours it was agony.

But going back to Winterfell would be difficult too: she would refuse to marry him, and perhaps it would be harder to have to forget her whilst she was in reach than it had been from so far away. If she ever married another- his hands clenched just to think about it.

But he had to respect her wishes. She was a strong woman, and she knew her own mind, and he would have to trust her in that.

On the other hand, Sansa and his mother were at Winterfell, and he missed them. His young bones ached for rest and home, and he couldn't fully push away the boyish instinct to stay close to his mother. Yes, he would be happier at home, and damn the Lannister princess if she was going to ruin that.

They arrived six months after his mother had left, riding into the courtyard with some small circumstance, to see Lady Stark and Sansa stood before them, with the few bannermen who remained to hold the castle around them.

He dismounted and walked over to them, trying to muffle the hurt and confusion in his chest at Cella's absence. He wrapped his arms tightly around his mother, feeling like a little boy again even though he stood taller than her now and could bury his face in her Tully red hair.

'Welcome home, son,' Catelyn murmured in his ear, and when he pulled away he thought he could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

He turned to Sansa, who smiled weakly at him and then embraced him forcefully, burying her head in his chest. He cradled her in return, feeling some pride at being the last remaining Starks, despite the horror of his siblings' deaths. They were Starks, and they would endure, and they would exact revenge.

As he moved back, Sansa whispered, 'She didn't write to you, did she?'
Robb frowned. His thoughts instinctively went to Myrcella but he didn't want to bring her up if he was wrong. Sansa grimaced.

'What's happened?' he asked, a little louder than perhaps appropriate.

His mother shuffled nervously and pulled him inside, taking him into the hall and sitting him down on his throne at the front.

His men filed in and a meal was served, and it was only when Lady Cat was pulled away to talk to Maege Mormont that Robb could lean across her place and ask the question that had been tearing him apart since he arrived.

'Where is she?' he hissed at Sansa.

She bit her lip. 'She doesn't come down for meals any longer.'

Robb spooned more food onto his plate and lifted it. 'Fine, I'll take this to her, where is she?'

Sansa looked nervous. She glanced over at her mother but Cat wasn't looking their way.

'If I were in her position, I would not want to see you.'

'Then at least give me a chance to apologise,' he begged, swallowing hard. What could have happened? Did Sansa know about their affair? Was she ashamed of him for breaking his honour?

'I'll show you after dinner,' she answered stiffly, and he read the subtext of make this right or I'll take your crown and your manhood.

And then their mother returned, and he spent the rest of the evening making polite chatter with his bannermen whilst his head ran over a thousand things.

After dinner, his mother invited him to play cards with her and a few of the lords, but he declined, claiming fatigue. She kissed him goodnight and left, and as soon as she was out of sight, Robb rose, grabbing his sister's hand and leading her out of the great hall. Once outside, they swapped, and Sansa led her brother into the coldest, gloomiest part of the castle, right above the courtyard where the smell of sweat and horse dung wafted up like a ghoul.

'Why did you give her these rooms?' he asked, outraged. Cella should have the warmest, loveliest rooms in the castle, the ones looking out to the sunset and the godswood. His… A Princess deserved better.

Sansa rapped her knuckles lightly on the door. 'Can I come in?'

There was a cough, and then a feeble 'yes' from inside, and Sansa opened the door, letting herself in but keeping Robb behind her, out of sight.

'Cella, he's back,' she sighed.

'I know,' Cella replied, in that intelligent, crisp voice of hers. Robb resisted the urge to shove past his sister now, trusting Sansa to introduce him carefully.

'Do you want to see him?' Sansa asked.

'I…' Cella's voice trailed off, 'Yes.'

Sansa lowered her head and then looked at her brother carefully.

'One moment,' she said, and pulled the door shut. And then she told him what had happened.

…

Cella waited nervously in her chair by the fire. What if he didn't want to see her? What if he didn't like her like this, pale and feeble and the opposite of her past self? He was bound to be disappointed when he found out what had happened, and she prayed to the old gods and the new (but particularly the old, who had seemed her only companions since she came here) that someone else would tell him, because she didn't think she could say it out loud.

(And they could never be together, so perhaps seeing each other would only bring pain.)

The door opened, and she didn't look up. She heard it clack shut again, and the light tread of tentative footsteps across the creaky wooden floor, and yet, as much as she longed to look at him, she was too scared.

'Cella,' he murmured, his hand lightly dropping onto her hair. She leant back, reclining into his chest as though they hadn't spent a day apart.

Still without looking up, she said, 'Robb.'

'You should have told me,' he said, and Cella bit her lip. Clearly Sansa had told him. At least she hoped it had been Sansa, because anyone else wouldn't have been as forgiving. She wondered if he had defended her, said he didn't care about her honour and that he would stand by her whatever. She wondered if he had said anything at all.

'I didn't know until we had already come here,' she explained.

'You should have sent me a letter or something!' he replied, sliding his hands down her back to cradle her tightly.

'And made you abandon your war?' she argued, finally releasing him and tugging away to look at his face. 'I'm not your wife, and I'm not worth losing your war.'

He looked tired. Pale and tired.

'You are worth everything,' he said.

'You have a kingdom to rule, and I can't even look after an unborn child!' she exclaimed. She hadn't realised how angry she was until now, hating herself on behalf of her lost child, hating herself for losing a child when her mother had borne three.

'Cella-' he said forcefully, grabbing her face between his hands and dropping to his knees to meet her eyes better. '-I do not believe that. The child was my doing in the first place and I care a lot more for you than a child I have never known. You are beautiful and kind and strong and all I can say is… That if anything had happened to you, I would have died at your side. I… Do not blame yourself.'

Cella looked at him with wet eyes. 'I… I'm ashamed, Robb,' she murmured, 'I'm ashamed, because after I was out of danger… I was glad that it was gone.'

'Cella, it's not your fault…'

'No, Robb, I didn't want it. Am I an unnatural woman? Doesn't every woman want to be a mother?' She swallowed, wanting to stop but the words kept flooding out, 'But I kept thinking… It was just a reminder. A reminder of you, which hurt enough, but also something to make your mother hate me. That child would not have had a happy upbringing.'

'Shush, my darling,' he said, pressing his forehead to hers, 'You're right, our child shouldn't have been a bastard.'

Cella racked a sob in through her mouth.

'None of our children will ever be bastards,' he said more strongly, 'Marry me.'

'What?' She breathed, pulling away and meeting his eyes.

'Cella, we've been through enough. These last months were agony for us both, and I want to be with you forever,' he said.

'But what if I cannot bear children…?' she whispered.

'I don't want children,' he said, 'I want you.'

Cella looked at him and he swore he saw a slight smile grow on her face.

'Yes, I'm always yours.'

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, lifting her to her feet with the force of his embrace. His face nuzzled into her hair. 'I love you,' he whispered.

A/N: AT LAST! I'm sorry it took a while coming, but this is longer than normal! And I wasn't kidding, this was the last chapter, I'll just do an epilogue to complete this fic!