"Robb!" Lalia calls for the young lord when she sees him, walking down the corridor towards Cerelle's room with his direwolf by his side.
"Yes, my lady?" he asks once he's close enough.
"I need you help," she says, low so Cerelle can't hear her. Beside her, Aedan pretends not to hear them, but Lalia knows he cares as well.
"Did something happen? Is Cerelle okay?" Robb looks alarmed, and then a little angry as he spares a look towards Cerelle's sworn sword.
"She won't leave the room. I just...I worry. She doesn't usually shut me out."
"Do you want me to try to speak to her? I was on my way there, in any case."
"Maybe you'll succeed." Lalia frowns, patting his shoulder before leaving.
Robb also frowns, looking to the princess' door.
"Cerelle?" he calls, softly knocking. Aedan walks a few feet away but still close by, trying to give them privacy.
"Please, just go away." He hears her faintly, almost far away. Grey Wind nudges his ankle, little thing he is. He can barely walk as it is, so Robb picks him up and leans against the door to speak.
"I just want to know if you're alright."
"I'm not, now leave!" She sounds closer now, her voice hoarse.
"No, I won't. We worry about you—" he shuts up when the door opens, the princess' bloodshot eyes looking back at him.
"Jon used to worry. He was one of the few," she whispers, brow furrowing as she wills back the tears that threaten to fall.
"Cerelle." He opens one of his arms, holding Grey Wind in the other, letting her fall on him. He walks into her room, knowing that if someone saw them, there would be gossip later on, but not caring.
"Jon...Jon was there, you know? I knew he cared, perhaps more than my father and certainly more than my mother," she whispers after he helps her sit down on her bed. "And now...now he's gone and Gods, his son is about Bran's age." She sobs, covering her mouth with her hand.
He hugs her closer, their legs touching as they sit side by side. He lets Grey Wind jump down from the bed and run around the room.
"I can't believe he's not going to be there anymore—what's that?!" She looks at Grey Wind, who yips at her as he runs from her fireplace back to the bed.
"It's a direwolf. Mine," he says, taking her hand. She doesn't move hers away.
"I thought there were no direwolves south of the Wall." She looks at him, her long hair framing her face with a few strands sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes look even bluer than the usual and her face is still wet from her tears, flushed after crying against him.
"So did we, but now there are five."
"Five? When did that happen? I—" she looks confused, her lips parting but no words leaving her mouth.
"Yesterday, when we were coming back. You were mourning, Cerelle, you haven't left this room for a whole day."
She's quiet for a few seconds before she dries her cheeks.
"What's its name?" she sniffs, offering it her hand to smell.
"Grey Wind" Robb smiles, looking down at his direwolf licking her fingers.
"You're not naming our children," she tells him instantly, raising an eyebrow as she glares at him.
"What? Cerelle-"
"We know it's coming. And...and I would like to marry you, Robb Stark."
"And I you, Cerelle Baratheon."
She raises from the bed, a closed lips smile making its way into her face.
She sits on the floor, her back resting against his shins and pats her leg to call Grey Wind to her. The direwolf jumps into her lap, putting his paws on her chest, nuzzling her cheek with his wet nose.
She lets out a broken laugh, burying and running her fingers through his fur.
Robb slips down, putting Cerelle between his legs and passing his arms around her to bring her closer to him.
With a kiss to her temple, he lets her play with his direwolf for a while. And if she cries, he just lets her.
Two weeks pass since Jon Arryn's death before Ned calls for her and Robb.
"My lord," she says, entering the room.
"Princess, please take a seat" he gestures for the chair beside Robb. She does so and notices he looks somewhat nervous.
"Is something the matter?" she asks, not knowing who to look at.
"I did not tell you any sooner, respecting your mourning, but seeing as the King is expected in two more weeks and you do need some time to prepare, I saw fit telling you today." Ned takes a deep breath, like he's preparing himself and Cerelle can't help the feeling she knows what he's about to say. "The King wants you two to marry while he is here. Invitations have been sent already."
While it does not surprise her, it does shake her. For a not so fleeting moment, she thinks she always thought Jon would be there for her. Not having other option than accepting it, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
"Very well," she says, turning to look at Robb. If he sees the tears on her eyes, he does not mention them. "It was about time anyway, wasn't it?"
She would be fooling herself if she didn't admit that she thought him handsome, kind in a way not many were. It was not mad to say she could love him and not a forced love, not what she always saw down in the South, but what she had seen here in the North between his own parents, who could build a love strong enough, sturdy enough to last.
She wanted that.
"Lady Stark?" she knocks on the Lord's chambers which they share, waiting for Catelyn to open the door.
"Your Grace. Something happened?"
"No, nothing bad, I promise. I was just thinking...my mother is coming for the wedding, and she's going to want to do it her way. If we were to plan everything beforehand… she wouldn't have the chance," Cerelle speaks, twirling a lock of her raven hair.
"Let me talk to the Maester. We can start tomorrow." The older woman smiles, nodding to the princess.
With an even bigger smile, Cerelle bows and leaves.
It was going to be a Northern wedding; her mother be damned.
"Princess Cerelle?" The next day, a shy knock brings her out of her concentration.
"Yes? Come in," she says to who she is pretty sure is Sansa. Not being wrong, the young lady comes into her chambers.
"Your Grace." the redhead bows.
"Please, stop that nonsense, Sansa. We're going to be sisters, you and I, there is really no need." She shakes her head smiling, beckoning the girl over.
"I was wondering...well...you see…"
"Out with it. I don't bite!"
"I was wondering who was going to make your wedding cloak." Sansa looks down, twisting her hands.
"Well, I always wanted to use my grandmother Cassandra's cloak as Baratheon. My sister was supposed to bring it and then take it to use it herself, that was our deal." Although she did doubt their mother would actually allow the younger sister to use it. Cerelle smiles, remembering how Myrcella had promised several times to see that it was packed, back when Cerelle had left for Winterfell. She had been so excited about the wedding. "But…" She frowns. "I don't know about the Stark one…"
"Well, I can make it! If you don't mind, that is!" Sansa looks at her with big eyes, excitement pouring out of her.
"Oh, Sansa, do you mean it? I would love it! A Stark cloak made by a Stark herself—I love the idea. Thank you, Sansa, it would mean the world to me."
And it would take a weight off her shoulders. It was not easy, planning everything. As she had been informed after Lord Stark spoke with her, several ravens had been sent already to castles all over the Seven Kingdoms, so everyone they saw fit inviting would be there in time, a week and a half after the arrival of the King and his court.
Since it was a princess marrying, all the important lords and ladies were to be present, along with some not so important from the North.
"Maester Luwin, I don't know if I can."
"You'll do just fine, child, you have nothing to fear." The old Maester tries to calm her down, but after several times, she still can't remember all the steps of the wedding, simple as they were.
"I should have just asked to be married under the New Gods, at least I know what to say then."
"Northern wedding as much simpler and quicker than the ones of the New Gods. You don't have to say much—"
"But I have been going to weddings back in King's Landing since I was a child! I like some parts of the ceremony. Also, what am I supposed to be doing when we kneel? I don't know how to pray to the Old Gods." She groans, hiding her face in her hands. She's quite impressed with the fact that the Maester still hasn't given up with her nonsense. If she's honest with herself, she's panicking over literally nothing.
"There have been Northern people married under the New Gods, even though they did not follow them. It's not quite uncommon, and young Robb does follow them, as well as the Old Gods."
"As tempting as it sounds, I'll be marrying the future Warden of the North. I do not think the North would like to see him married as a Southerner."
"Lord Stark himself married as a Southerner. Granted, he did have a small ceremony afterwards in Riverrun's Godwood, but still, he was married under the New Gods first."
"Yes, but his bride was not part Lannister. People will never completely trust me, and I know that, I do." She sighs. "Let's try it again."
"Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?" Maester Luwin looks at her, his quill finally resting after a whole afternoon planning.
"I don't think so, unless we're forgetting something. Lady Stark?" She turns to look at Catelyn, and she looks back at her for a second before shaking her head.
"I think that is all. Thank you both for the help. Cerelle, if you could please stay."
"My lady, Your Grace." Maester Luwin bows his head, leaving the two women alone.
"It was no trouble, really, my lady." Cerelle starts before Catelyn can even open her mouth, but the lady raises a hand to stop her.
"I want to talk to you. You've been here for such a long time and I haven't been the best to you. You are alone, and I did not welcome you as I should have. I suppose I was jealous."
"My lady—"
"No. It was my fault. Since you are marrying my son in less than two weeks, I want to get to know you. I should have done this a long time ago." Catelyn grabs her hand, giving the girl a bright smile.
"I...I don't know what to say."
"Tell me about you. Just...we can talk."
They speak until nightfall, when both leave for supper.
And when she sits beside Robb, giving him a smile, she finally stops feeling like an outsider.
"Are you nervous?"
"Because my family is expected to arrive today, not counting the fact that several Lords and Ladies have already arrived, and that means my wedding is just around the corner? Not at all," Cerelle says, rolling her eyes and trying very hard to swallow her nerves.
"I meant nervous because you haven't seen your family in such a long time."
"I don't know. Yes, I suppose, but also…I don't know. It's hard to explain. I missed them, I truly did, but...you know how things were."
"Yes, I know." Lalia nods, not looking at her. Cerelle knows her since they were little more than babes, so she knows when her cousin is avoiding something.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little."
"Lalia...I think we need to speak," she tries to start a conversation, both girls knowing they can't put it off any later, not when later, spies would be everywhere.
"You know what I'm going to say." Lalia gives her a firm stare, and Cerelle knows she won't be easy to convince, but she has to try.
"And you know I'll ask anyway." Cerelle knows she can't back down on this. She can't.
"You need me here."
"The girls will need you there, too."
"You can't just ask me to leave you here!" Lalia raises her arms, turning around so she can't see Cerelle and crossing her arms.
"And you can't expect me to throw those girls to the lions alone! King's Landing is far more dangerous than the North and you know it. I'll be safe," she assures her best friend. And she expected to be. Life could be good in the North.
Her Mother had once told her, love no one but your children. She knew, even back then, that she would have no choice in that.
But in loving other people she did, and she wanted to.
"No one is ever safe," Lalia mumbles, turning to look at her.
"Then safer." Both glare at the other, neither wanting to yield but knowing one has to.
"Fine."
"Lalia, please don't be mad. You know how—"
"Yes, I know how it is. And I know Ned Stark is a godsdamn grown man, old enough to know what he's getting himself into."
"I'm not asking for Lord Stark. I think Father may try to marry Sansa to Joffrey." Cerelle looks down, twiddling her thumbs.
"Gods, this is fucked up." Lalia laughs, nervously running her hands through her hair.
"I know. But someone, sooner or later, will marry him."
Joffrey was not a good person. Not long ago, she had told Robb some things. Not everything, perhaps only her family knew everything, and even fewer acknowledged his horrors, but she had said enough. She had talked about Tommen's fawn and about his cat. She had talked about the scar on her wrist where he had hit her hard enough to draw blood on one of the few times he had actually picked up a sword.
She just hopped Lord Stark could see it before it was too late.
"I won't protect every girl Joffrey lays his eyes upon."
"And I'm not asking you to. Just this one," she begs, standing up and taking Lalia's hands on her own.
A knock interrupts whatever Lalia is going to say.
"Your Grace? The King is close, it's time for you to come down," Eline, her handmaid, says from outside.
"Just one second!" she calls, turning back to look at Lalia.
"Fine." Lalia rushes to the door, opening it and stopping there.
"Thank you. I—"
"I'm not doing it for you. If I wanted to do something for you, I'd stay here." Lalia leaves the door open for Eline to come in and doesn't stop until she's out of sight.