By the time Robb escorts her back to her chambers, she's ready to fall asleep.
It was easy to lose track of time, song after song, when in his company. He was funny and a good dancing partner. She had known knights back in King's Landing that could not dance as half as well as Robb did.
She knows that the next day is full of things to do, starting with dress fittings for Lalia and her, as Dala was leaving soon. She would miss her friend, but the girl wanted to go back to her family, and she could not deny it to her.
With heavy feet, she drags herself to the small desk in her room. Taking ink and parchment, she grabs her quill and writes.
Dearest Myrcella and Tommen,
Winterfell and its people are nothing but warm. I hope you can visit me someday; it has been barely a few weeks since I last saw you and I miss you both dearly.
Take a good trip to the sea if you can for me, will you? Winterfell is very far from the sea, and I'm not sure how I'll be able to sleep without its sounds. Play on the gardens for me. Please make sure my favorite spot is looked after.
And both of you, kick Pycelle's ankles if this letter has the seal open. I taught both how to know.
Tell Mother I'm fine, safe and sound. We had no troubles in the road, luckily.
If Father asks, tell him I'm happy. Truly, I think I will be here.
If any of you see Jenne, tell her I miss her very much and hope she's happy with her new husband.
Love, your sister,
Princess Cerelle of House Baratheon.
In the end, it is quite a letter that she has to fold for it to fit the raven. As an afterthought, she grabs another piece of paper.
Father,
Thank you.
Cerelle.
She undresses by herself. Ever since she could have a say in her dresses, she had them all made simple enough so she could slip out of them without help. Of course, that must be the only simple thing, since she's a princess and could not look anything but the best.
She wakes early, far earlier than she did in King's Landing; the cold is too much for her to sleep more.
Her nose is so cold she can barely feel the tip by the time she realizes she's freezing because she slept with her window open.
Lalia and Dala knock on her door when she's putting on her shoes and walk with her to find the Maester, who smiles at her and kindly accepts the letters she has written. With his quill, she writes Myrcella and Tommen on the outside of their letter. Somehow, he looks more trustworthy that Maester Pycelle. Then again, that is not very hard to accomplish.
They go down to breakfast after being told by Maester Luwin where it's held.
Breakfast is held in a much smaller room, and this time only the Stark family, Jon, and Theon are present.
They're halfway through the meal when Lord Stark speaks to her.
"Princess. From the moment you have fitting clothes and feel ready, Sir Rodrik Cassel, our Master at Arms, will take care of your training here in Winterfell."
"Thank you, my lord." She smiles, trying to ignore the way Lady Stark looks at her.
"The princess knows how to use a sword?" Theon Greyjoy asks from two seats down. She looks at him with raised eyebrows.
"Well, yes, sword, spear, bow and arrow. I tried the warhammer for a while too," she says, lifting her fingers as she lists the weapons.
"Wouldn't have thought the King would let his daughter learn how to fight." She lets out a laugh that sounds too much like a bark to be ladylike, but she can't find it in her to care. From beside her, she can hear the soft laughter of her friends.
"I apologize," she says. She opens her mouth to give some kind of explanation, but she's interrupted.
"Robb," Lady Catelyn calls before they can say anything else. "Would you please show the princess and her ladies around? I'm sure they didn't get to see much yesterday."
"My lady, that won't be necessa—"
"It would be my pleasure." Robb smiles at her. She blushes as she sees him look at her and can hear faintly Arya making gagging sounds until Sansa steps on her foot.
Robb is good. He's not like Joffrey, who walks through halls like he owns them all, but like herself, waving and nodding and naming people as much as they can.
"You got lucky." Lalia and Dala fall into step with her when Robb, with a 'excuse me, my ladies, if you would wait a few seconds', stops to talk with a man.
"I know," she whispers, turning her head to look at her cousin.
After having lunch, Lady Stark herself leads the three girls to a dressmaker.
When the petite woman is measuring her, Cerelle starts to tell her what she wants.
She wants to be able to take them off herself, she wants at least one pocket hidden, she wants them to end a finger before reaching the floor and she wants them in grey, green, blue and details in black.
She's a princess and she's going to make the best of it.
Lalia asks for her own preferences, red and golden and simple enough she can take them off herself, but not so much that she looks less than the Lady of Lannister she is.
After that comes dinner and after dinner, she sits with Sansa and Arya to sew, although if she's honest, she's not as good as Dala is. No one is.
"Oh, Lady Dala, that is beautiful!" Sansa cries when she sees the fox Dala is making.
Cerelle hears them speaking, but she doesn't look up from the very abnormal looking stag she's trying.
"Did your Septa teach you?" she hears Arya from her side.
"Well...she tried." She shows her poor attempt in brown and black. "My sister, Myrcella, she's really good at this. Sometimes she would fix mine so our Septa wouldn't get mad at me for being so incompetent. I just don't understand how it makes me a better princess."
"I don't get it either. Northern women use embroidery because we don't use the pretty jewels you use in the South, but I don't want to use either, so I don't understand why I need to learn!"
Cerelle just smiles at her.
Dala is only staying until the next morning, so the three girls stay the night in the princess' chambers. It's something they are used to do, having slept together since they were children, back in King's Landing, where Cerelle's bed was big enough for the four of them.
"I hope you are happy back at the Reach," Cerelle says. She's lying between both ladies, the three of them on their backs.
"And I hope you two are happy here. How long are you staying here for, Lalia?"
"Probably until Cerelle has her first child. Then I'll probably go back to Casterly Rock to get married. I'm not sure, Mother and I didn't speak about it before I left."
"You could always marry someone from here," Cerelle whispers, turning her head to look at the blonde. "I'm sure Lord Stark would find you someone, if we asked."
"I think he would if you asked. Or if Robb asked. Everyone knows Starks hold no love for Lannisters."
"I'm half Lannister!"
"You're half Baratheon."
"If what they say Grandfather Tywin had the Mountain do is true," Cerelle starts slowly, trying to choose her words, "and I don't think Lord Stark would lie about it, then they have every right to be horrified. Elia Martell and her children died in a terrible, cruel way and they did nothing to the man who killed them."
"If there was ever a war...do you think you would be killed like that?" Dala asks, almost like she doesn't realize she's speaking.
"No, I don't think so," Cerelle answers, frowning a little.
"Why not? You are the princess, after all."
"Yes, but...my grandfather wouldn't have me killed...would he?"
The next morning, they get ready slowly, silently. Dala is leaving with the Kingsguard, leaving behind only Cerelle, Lalia and Cerelle's sworn sword, Ser Aedan. She didn't really know him, as he had traveled for the most part of the way from King's Landing near Dala, but he seemed to be a nice knight.
"Write to me, alright? I want to hear everything." Cerelle takes Dala's hands on her own, looking at the girl with earnest.
"Of course, princess."
"I'll hit you," she warns, but the smile never leaves her face, as sad as it is. She'll truly miss Dala, just as she misses Jenne.
She gives the dark-haired girl a last hug before stepping aside so Lalia can say her farewells.
There are no big feasts when she leaves. No party to see her off, nothing. Dala just rides away, just like that, and suddenly Cerelle realizes she may as well never see her again.
"Cerelle?" Lalia asks from her side, touching her arm to snap her out of it.
"Yes?"
"I feel like I'll be catching a cold. I—"
"Go to you chambers, try to sleep a little. Do you need anything?"
"No, no. I just wanted to know if you were going to be okay by your own." Lalia looks unsure, but Cerelle can see the way there is a weight on her shoulders and the bags under her eyes. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, having woken Cerelle up with her tossing and turning more than a few times.
"Of course. Go have some rest and don't worry about me. I'm a big princess." She smiles to her cousin, ushering her towards the castle. She stands there for a little, looking around, until a hand on her arm pulls her attention towards Robb.
"Yes, my lord?" she asks, shaking her head a little to clear her head. Now is not the time to be thinking about whether she made the right decision or not. She had already made it, and it was far too late to go back, even though she had not, technically, agreed to marry Robb Stark yet.
"Do you need to get away from this?" He takes her hand, letting it rest on his, palm open. If she wants to pull away, she can.
She doesn't.
"Yes, please."
There is a godswood in the Red Keep, but it's not as impressive as the one Winterfell has. Things in the north are darker, colder and wetter, but not any less beautiful.
The weirwood stands tall, ancient and proud near a small pond. Close by are the warm springs that keep the castle warm and she wonders out loud if people can use them.
"Yes, although it is wise to take someone with you, in case somebody else has the same idea." Robb smiles like remembering something.
She walks towards the white and red tree, her back to Robb, lifting her hand to touch it but deciding against it.
"You can touch it, you know," she hears him say.
"They always made more sense. The old gods. Why would there be so many perfect gods? Isn't it more natural to think an all-powerful being as a nature spirit? How could we be more powerful than things that were created thousands of hundreds of years ago." She touches the tree then. A shiver runs down her spine. "What gods do you pray to, Robb?"
"The old and the new," he answers.
"And under what gods would we marry?"
"Whichever ones you prefer. You are the princess, after all." He keeps his distance from her, his hands behind his back, and, somehow, she knows it's out of respect and not avoidance.
"But I'll be just a Lady once you become a Lord. And I'll have northern children and act as a northern lady." She turns around to look at him. "I want to marry under the old gods"
"As you wish"
She sits then on a root, looking up at him as she waits for him to do the same.
"You would be patient, wouldn't you? If we marry?" She doesn't want to outright say it, but she needs some kind of reassurance, some word that he wouldn't be like the nightmares she has heard, that he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't pressure her—wouldn't own her.
"I would try to be. My mother is a southerner, so I know things are a bit different for you—" She cuts him off when she hears him get off topic, when she realizes he didn't quite get what she means.
"I feel alone. Dala left, and Lalia will leave someday, maybe soon. I don't know anyone here."
"You know me. You can always talk to me, I promise. And my sisters like you, they will help you settle down. Well...Sansa more so than Arya. She'll just ask you to teach her how to fight."
"I'd feel better with her doing that."