Her hand was at her temple while she held Mother's letter over an open flame. It caught fire like it was meant to burn, and the thought brought her some dull sort of pleasure. She tossed the rest into the hearth of the fireplace and watched it turn to ash.

She had waited for word from Myr for weeks, and now that it had finally come, she did not know how to feel. Her prayers had been odd and unsure, for she could not decide whether to pray for Father's life to continue whilst he suffered, or to pray for it to end so that he might have peace. None of it seemed to matter now.

She rose from her seat, her black frock flowing behind her in a pool of gloom. Her looking glass had revealed her newly paled complexion, which she had come to learn was a very comely feature in the North. If they like their women sickly, then I am a feast for the eyes. She adjusted the gold leaf detailing on her chest and sleeves before she left her chambers. She thought on how queer it was that the Westerosi would wear black as though it were in the fashion. When in Myr, black could only mean death. Even so, it was dangerous to wear black alone for fear that the death would take you with it.

The halls of Winterfell were beginning to seem more familiar now, though she was sure that she would never grow accustomed to the cold. Her bones and joints ached all days and nights from the damp that hung in the air. A month in the North now, and she had found herself in an assortment of unexpected events. Lady Stark's attempted assassination had left the castle with so many questions, and one night, Robb had told her in confidence that the Lannisters were suspected of treachery. Lady Stark had left for King's Landing to confer with Lord Eddard all about her suspicions for fear that a letter might be intercepted.

However impressive the evidence, she could not bring herself to believe it. All her life she had come to know the Lannisters well, or more appropriately, their coin. Her home had flourished by their patronage. The Queen had been very kind when she had come to take Myrish tea with the Princess and Sansa, but she could not deny the uncertain times she lived in. Everything seemed to be changing without any sign of slowing. Explanations seemed few and none, so she had learned to get along without them.

There had been no word from Jon... The last they had heard, he had arrived safely at the Wall. The letters were not written in his hand, and it pained her that she did not even know what his hand looked like. It had been signed by Robb's uncle Benjen, but she still swelled with concealed relief. Careful not to show her pleasure too outwardly. Not even to Robb. Her husband, who had become her only friend in the world. Who woke up from his place on the floor to console her when she cried in the middle of the night. He would whisper gently to her the words she had wanted to hear. That everything would be better come morning. He was wrong, but it felt good to hear it in the dark.

When she arrived at Bran's chambers, she breezed through the door without a second thought. She was Lady Stark whilst the real one was away, and Robb had said she could go into any room she pleased without asking permission.

Bran laid in bed with a grimace, his hands dead at his sides. She caught his open eyes when she came through the door, but when she looked again they were closed.

She cleared her throat and drew back the curtains about the room in several swift motions. "I know you're awake." She said, lacing her fingers together and starring at him. Bran always had something to say when he woke up, and today would be no different.

One of his eyes opened just enough that she could see the bright colour of his iris. "How did you know?"

"I saw you when I walked in." She said, turning to grab some fresh cloths and ointment. It was every morning for weeks that she had dressed and tended to Bran's wounds.

"Do we have to?" He moaned, slamming his hands onto the bed.

"You know we do. We don't want you getting sick, and Maester Luwin said last night would be the last time."

"I don't know why he keeps cutting me. I'm never going to feel my legs again." He said bitterly.

"Perhaps. And Perhaps not. But he is the Maester and he knows best." Bran stared out the window, while she threw off his sheets and sat by his legs. She removed the bandages and cleansed the lacerations. Her eyes flickered to Bran every so often, and though she prodded at his cuts purposely, the child continued to look out his window into the distant sky, unfeeling.

She sighed, "Once you are finished, we need to get you dressed. There's so much to be done."

"I don't want to get up today."

"Neither did I. Yet here I am." She told him, trying to muster a small smile.

Quite suddenly, he grabbed hold of his trapeze and lifted himself upright, his eyes studying her. "Have you been crying?" All at once, his argumentative tone was hushed into genuine concern. The charcoal around her eyes was thicker than usual, but it did not fool Bran. She licked her lips and finished with one of his legs. The room grew quieter still and Bran looked down into his sheets, and watched her from the top of his eyes. "Did you get the letter from Myr? The one you were expecting?" He asked gently.

"Yes." She admitted, tilting her head to look at him.

His lips tightened nervously, "Is your father..." She could see the boy weighing his words with care, "gone." He finally said, his fingers fiddling with his trapeze.

She drew in a long breath, "Yes. He's gone now. I'm told they have already completed the funeral rights." He was the first she had told, and she still hardly believed it herself. Saying the words made it more real, and now that they were out in the world, it surprised her that she had no more tears left to shed.

"I'm sorry." He said as graciously, as any little Lord might.

Her smile was real now, though small and frail, "Thank you." She touched his leg lightly and rubbed it away as she rose from the bed.

"You're the first person I've told you know." She thought to make him feel proud, and it had worked. He sat taller, knowing she confided in him.

"We should tell Robb too." He decided, it was not her intention to use her father's death as an excuse to rise the little lordling, but it had worked just the same. She pulled a fresh tunic over his head and when Hodor arrived to dress him the rest of the way, she waited outside in silence.

When Bran emerged, Hodor carrying him like a rag doll, she could not help but feel pity for the boy. Once a strong beautiful youth, now, while still beautiful, he needed the help of a woman and a simpleton to rise from his covers. His struggle gave her new found strength every day. It was a strength formed from shame, for how could she weep when she still had working legs? But it made her humble just the same.

As they descended the stairs, Ev̱gení̱s informed him of his duties. "You will have your lessons with Maester Luwin for the afternoon-"

"Where will you be?" He interrupted.

"I will be about Winterfell. I expect there are linens that need changing and candles that need replacing. I will have to inform the servants on all this. I shall also have to balance the books for these items. I will likely accompany Robb to the nearer holdfasts too oversee the last wool harvest. Winter is coming after all."

"Can't I go?"

"No sweetling. You cannot ride, and you don't want to have to come along in a wagon do you?"

"No." He said sullenly.

"Besides, you need to remain behind. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You know that. You will have plenty to do over here. As I said before, you will have your studies, then you can watch Rickon practice the sword. He will need your guidance."

"But first, should we go to Robb?" The last step was harder on her knees than the others somehow, and she took in a deep breath.

"Yes. First we will go to Robb." She rounded the corner and straightened her dress for any number of guests that might have been in the great hall. Her hands laid gracefully over her abdomen, and her back grew straight as a switch.

The doors opened before she had the chance to ask that it be done. All eyes travelled to her and Bran at once, and she felt more like a Stark then ever. The black silk of her dress flowed over her and caught the curve of her breasts and hips. The gold embroidery along her every seam was her only reminder that somewhere deep down, beneath the dreary sadness, a Myrish girl still lived.

Robb sat upon his high seat, a place that seemed to fit him well. Though he was not the same Robb who had spoken to her in their chambers at night. This was Robb the lord, and he looked it. His whiskers has come in, and it made him look more a man than the boy she had seen in the crowd when she arrived at Winterfell. She was sure to always pay him every courtesy when he held court. His chest took in a great breath and he had always seemed more robust when he wore all of his furs. She knew he must have been advised to wear them indoors so that he looked less young to the older Lords who visited. Robb's eye flickered towards her twice, as though he had needed a second look.

"My Lord husband." She lowered her eyes into a curtsey for him. Later, he would tell her that she did not need to do it, but she would do it all the same. It was little things like that that made her a true lady and she was bred to understand that small courtesies could add up a great deal. She had never been impressively good with sums, but she knew that she was very deep in debt to Robb Stark.

"Lord Karstark." Robb began, his eyes ever on her, "I don't believe you've met my Lady wife."

Lord Karstark was a tall, well built man, with a long grey beard. His clothes were not so fine as Robb's, and Ev̱gení̱s thought him older than Lord Eddard Stark.

"My Lady." He said in a shallow bow. "If I may say so my Lord, your Lady wife is most lovely." Robb smiled and leaned back proudly.

The lower Lord's smile gave way to crooked teeth that reminded her of her grandfather. He had died when she had only seen five name days, but she remembered that he was kind and that he used to balance her on his knee.

"I thank you." Ev̱gení̱s said sweetly.

"Lord Karstark has just arrived and will dine with us this evening." Robb said. Robb had hosted a new Lord every night. A Stark tradition that Ev̱gení̱s had quite admired.

"Splendid, I should like to know more about your Lady wife and your family."

Lord Karstark bowed again and left the hall.

Ev̱gení̱s swept across the room. Sleeves as long as her gown caught the wind as she walked. Goose pimples had formed once she reached Robb. Her nerves apparent by the twisting and turning of her ring.

"Are you well?" Robb asked sweetly rising from his seat. He had always awakened earlier on the days he held court, and she had not seen him yet this morning. Facing him filled her with dread. It was one thing to tell Bran of her father's passing, but telling Robb would alert the whole of Winterfell.

He placed a kiss on her cheek this time. He had taken to kissing her chastely on the cheek and brow and Ev̱gení̱s could not find it in her to deny him that small right. She had kissed him back once, when he crawled into bed to hold her while she cried. He had been so tender, she could not help but to do it, and though the fires of the room burned low she thought she could see the hope in his face.

She had taken long to answer, and without words he had known what had happened. To his credit, Robb had a way of seeing past her many masks.

"Maester Luwin said their was a raven today." He took her hands in his gloved ones and they seemed to disappear into his grip. "Was it the news you've been waiting for? Is it your father?"

She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Almost thankful that all she needed to do was nod. His grip tightened and she looked up to him and found the strength not to cry in front of everyone who looked on. Father has died. Not my dignity.

Robb closed his eyes and let out as sigh. "I am so sorry Ev̱gení̱s. I know you loved him well, as I love my own father. I can't imagine what you must be feeling." He swallowed and massaged the back of her hands with his thumbs. She looked higher than his eyes now, trying harder not to weep. She pulled her hands away to catch the wetness before they reached her charcoal. She sniffled quickly and looked towards the fire and away from everyone else. Damn me.

"Winterfell is in mourning." Robb commanded quickly of everyone. Ev̱gení̱s looked to him as quickly as she had looked away. The hall watched on as he spoke, "My Lady's father has died. All will fast and dress in black, until the next moon." She could not have been more honoured by the gesture. She knew that the next moon would not come for a while and it was far too long for a whole castle to be in mourning. Far beyond the courtesies that should be paid for a Lord's wife's family member.

She looked at him again and knew that she needed to pay him the thanks of a kiss while all eyes on them.

She leaned forward when a sudden pull at the doors made them swing open in haste. A host of men entered the room and before anyone could form a question, a tiny man waddled in. A small red doublet with a lion sewn into the breast confirmed what everyone had already known. Theon Greyjoy had followed behind him in a frantic hurry.

Ev̱gení̱s looked at Robb and for once, he did not meet her eyes. He was fixated on the man as though Lady Stark's accusation were a certainty and Ev̱gení̱s knew not to interfere. She turned her heel and moved to Bran who was held by Hodor.

"What brings you here Lannister?" Ev̱gení̱s held her breath and looked to Robb with a fear in her eyes. His words were harsh and she did not know how to react to the argument that might ensue from it.

Tyrion Lannister starred at Robb like he had been struck. "Winterfell is closer than the brothel a few more miles south, and it's a long way down from the Wall."

The Wall... The words stirred something in her. Tyrion Lannister had just come from being with Jon. Her dreams had been nothing but nightmares about her father for weeks, but every so often, there would be a dream of Jon Snow. When she would go to him, he did not know her. And he would turn his heel and walk away, his cape billowing behind him in a terrible black that seemed the only dark smudge in a world of white. Sometimes, she would scream at him, but still he walked away, uncaring. She knew it was just a dream, she would tell herself as much every time she woke up in a cold sweat. But it was always easier to take a bad dream as law when the room was dark and their whispers were fresh.

What they each left behind worried her more. The place where Jon Snow dwelled in her heart was beginning to darken with distain. She did not want it to wilt, and so with all her might she would try to mend the wound. But every time the same dream came, it became harder to do.

"You'll find no beds here. Not for the likes of you." Robb's answers were giving Ev̱gení̱s alarm, but she dared not cross him here.

The tiny Lannister began to shake his head, clearly unaware of why his welcome was so tainted. "Why are you receiving me? Where is Lady Stark?" The hall grew silent at the question, and he began to search the room, his different coloured eyes more prominent as they caught the light that trickled in. "She's not here is she-" He might have gone on had Bran not caught his attention. "Hello Bran." He said, pleasantly enough. "Are you well?"

"No. Robb and Ev̱gení̱s are going to the nearby holdfasts today and I have to stay behind because I cannot ride."

"You have no use of your legs at all?"

"No." Bran said begrudgingly.

"Well, as it happens, word of your condition and recovery had reached the Wall some time ago. Your brother Jon sends a message with me." Ev̱gení̱s heart leapt involuntarily and she carefully drew in a breath. She thought that she had seen Tyrion Lannister's eyes flicker towards her for a moment, but perhaps she was oversuspicious.

"Jon?!" Bran said happily.

"He told me to tell everyone," his voice rose and he looked about the room again, "that he is sorry that he could not be here for Bran's awakening, but he hopes that what I can do for you may help."

"You?" Robb seethed. She wished that she could have begged Robb to stop. To tell him that his words were too coarse. She found herself wanting to hear Jon's message.

He ignored Robb's words and continued to stare at Bran. "He asked that I help you in any way I can, and I think this," He pulled out a scroll and handed it to Bran. The child opened it without hesitation, "will help you a great deal." Ev̱gení̱s looked on and saw sketches of what looked like a contraption of a saddle. "This saddle is of my own design. It will help you to sit a horse once more."

"You mean I will ride again?"

"With the right horse and proper construction I believe so." Bran looked to Robb with a hope that Ev̱gení̱s could not help but smile at. How could this man be the cause of all this? If Jon trusted him, why shouldn't they?

"Is this a trick? Some false kindness-"

"It was no great kindness from me I assure you. This was a favour to Jon Snow, who asked that I do whatever is in my power to help your younger brother. I was also asked to tell you that the Wall needs men, and if ever you find yourself with prisoners or men willing to join, you should send them to the Wall at once."

Robb starred down at him in silence, his face as still as stone. He drew in a large breath, "You have done Bran a kindness, and I cannot know why my brother would trust such words to come by you. But you have my word that we will send who we can to the Wall." Robb spoke with a power that haunted her. When he sat his high seat, he was fierce to behold, his eyes the only colour in the room. She could see his breath in the cold air, despite the lit fire and she grew proud to call him her husband.

"There was one other message." He interjected, almost too pleased to do so.

"Very well, any message that Jon has sent me is welcomed-"

"The message isn't for you. It's for your Lady wife." Tyrion Lannister looked at Ev̱gení̱s with an expression that did not seem ill willed.

She blinked, and found herself grow still, unsure of how to react. Her eyes however, made the choice to dart to Robb who she looked to for approval. She wanted Jon's message with all her heart, but if Robb didn't want it said, she would need to obey. Robb continued to stare at Tyrion Lannister with a confusion that melted away when he looked to meet Ev̱gení̱s' eyes.

She needed no words for him to know what she asked. He nodded at her, and her heart began to race faster still. Quickly, she looked back to Tyrion Lannister who stood in the middle of the hall, awaiting her approval.

"You may say your message my Lord. Though what Jon Snow could have to say to me, I'm sure I don't know." She thought that she sounded very calm, though she could not be sure.

The little man waddled over to her, much to her surprise. He held out his hand, and she hesitated before she placed it into his. "Firstly, my Lady let me say how deeply sorry I am for your loss." He paused, and she took in the courtesy with grace, her face unreadable. It had not even been a few hours, yet the condolences had already begun. She did not know how much of them she could bare. "I spoke with your father a great deal whilst I stayed here at Winterfell and he seemed a very good man. Jon bid me that I give you his sympathies as well. As he knew how much you truly loved your father." Through her own sorrow, she fought to see the noble gesture that it was. She knew that Jon had not cared for her father. Quite suddenly, his eyes locked onto hers like he might have told her something by his stare alone. "He also says that he is safe and that he hasn't forgotten."

She stopped breathing when he finished, his hands slipping away as he turned his heel. She could see it happening, but the world seemed to be moving slower. She did not know how to feel. It seemed impossible these days to feel one thing at a time, and she wondered if she would ever feel the simplicity of one single emotion ever again.

"He hasn't forgotten Winterfell to be sure, I can oft be so dense with details." He corrected himself before everyone, loudly and with vigor. She was grateful for it, as the true message had already been received.

"I thank you for your kindness my lord of Lannister." Was all she could think to say, catching her breath again.

He looked back with a warm curve of his lips, when Robb interjected. "Yes. You have delivered my brother's messages and for that I am grateful. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours." Robb's words were kind enough, but his tone was dutiful and forced.

"I've no need of your hospitality, my lord." Tyrion Lannister almost spat. "I think on second thought, that brothel is beginning to seem much more suitable." He lowered himself into a half bow that would not have impressed anyone, his tiny legs turning and waddling out of the doors from which he came.

Hey all,

Another chapter after a very long wait. Thank you to all the readers who hung in there! This chapter is just further proof that if I'm taking a while to write it, fear not. It will eventually get gone, and it will be posted. Please review, I love hearing your feedback!

Cheers,

-Prosati