The argument comes after the feast.
But first, there is relief. Robb doesn't even wait for the door to be closed completely before he is holding her close, burying his head on her shoulder.
"You didn't have to—"
"I did. We both know I did." She shakes her head, her hands coming up to hold his shoulders. "When are you marching?" She buries her hand on his hair, scratches at his scalp.
"In two days," he murmurs, his hands tightening around her waist.
Cerelle closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.
"I'm leaving with you."
"No." Robb pulls back, jaw already clenched, ready to put up a fight.
"Yes." She puts her hand on his cheek, uses her thumb to caress it. "I am the one thing you have against my family. If worst comes to worst, you can exchange me."
"I don't want—"
"Neither do I." She shakes her head. "But you need to look at all the possibilities."
She wants to cry but doesn't. She wants to turn back the time but can't. She can only go forward, now.
"I can't let you come," Robb insists. "You are weak, you are in no position to—"
"I have the whole journey to the Riverlands to regain my strength. I am coming, Robb. I must."
Robb tries to put up more of a fight, but she does not let it escalate, barely even lets him speak. She has made up her mind, and he cannot convince her otherwise.
They sleep on their bed that night, their bodies finding their places on each other, his arm around her waist, her head on the place where his arm met his shoulder. Her hand rests on his chest over his shirt, on the place where she can feel his heart beating strong.
The next morning, she and Ser Aedan head to the training yard at first light. There aren't many people, which works in her favor, as Ser Aedan wipes the floor with her.
"It is enough, Princess," he says when she cannot pick herself up.
"No. Again," she says, slowly standing. Everything aches and her breathing is labored, but she cannot stop. She needs to get better, she needs her strength back.
"No. This will only be worse. You could get an attack. We can continue tomorrow, if you can stand." Ser Aedan puts the training sword away, and she resigns herself.
"I had something to say to you, before we part ways," Cerelle says, putting her hand on his arm. Winterfell has woken up since they started, and a few men are looking and laughing. She must be such a pitiful sight.
"Of course." Ser Aedan stands straighter, and she does as well.
"I once vowed to never ask you of something that would bring you dishonor. I stand by it, Ser Aedan. If this fight, if this war in any way would bring you dishonor, I would release you from your oath and wish you good fortune."
"Your Grace." Ser Aedan bows his head and drops himself to one knee. "I was born and raised in the Vale. I squired for the King in the Greyjoy Rebellion and was knighted by him. Serving your family has been the greatest thing I have done, and it could never bring me dishonor. To not serve you would make me betray your father's memory, Your Grace, and betray my last vow to my King. My sword, my shield, my life is yours."
"Rise, Ser Aedan."
She wishes she could hug him. She wishes she could thank him for his loyalty, for his support. This, right here, is worth more to her than an army at her back. One loyal man would always be worth ten soldiers that would betray her for someone with pockets deep enough.
She hopes the nod she gives and the look of utter gratitude on her face are enough to get the message across.
She volunteers to be the one to tell Rickon, because it must come from her. The news of Robb leaving had not been well taken, which coupled with her absence, had made Rickon too wild to control, and Shaggydog dangerous. He had tried to cling to her, which explained why he would beg and plead to be let into her rooms.
Robb said Rickon hadn't understood completely why she was so sad, and why she had isolated herself instead of seeking comfort from them, which Cerelle could understand, seeing as Rickon was barely seven—his nameday had been a quiet affair, in those months when things could still be called normal.
She finds him near the kennels. He has taken to hover around it, now that Shaggydog is locked up. More than once, men have reported to see him try and break him out, and twice he has been successful.
"Rickon," she calls for him, and his little face lights up when he sees her. He runs to her and hugs her around her middle, looking up at her with a wide grin.
"Cerelle! Have you come to set Shaggy free? He doesn't like chains."
His hope breaks her heart.
"No, Rickon. I'm afraid I have some news that might upset you. Would you like to come with me?"
His smile is wiped off from his face and he grows guarded at once. He lets go of her and takes a step back.
"No. You can tell me now. I'm a big lad. I can take it." He stands straighter, and clenches his jaw in the same way Robb does.
The sting of tears is familiar on her eyes. She squats to be closer to him and beckons him closer. He comes, but slowly, ready to run. She takes his hand, but he remains away.
"Do you know how my brother doesn't want to let your father leave? And that's why your brother called the banners, to bring him home?" Rickon nods. He looks so small, even if he tries to make himself taller. For a second, all she sees is Tommen. But then she blinks, and it's Rickon again. "I have to go with him—"
"NO!" Rickon yells, pulling his hand away and stomping his feet. "No, you can't leave! Everybody leaves, and then they don't come back! You were supposed to stay!"
"Rickon, I will come back, I promise." She grabs him by the arms and pulls him into a hug, but he still tries to shake her off, using his elbows to dig into her sides. Still, she holds him closer.
"No, you won't. No, you won't! You're just like Mother!" he shouts, trying to sneak out of her arms. He tries to bite her, but he can only bite her cloak.
"Rickon, please. Of course, I will come back. This is my home, now." She starts to rock side to side, hushing him as he yells. She can hear Shaggydog howling and barking and shaking the kennels, but she keeps on with her soothing until Rickon stops hyperventilating and begins to calm down.
"…do you promise?" he asks, gripping with bruising strength the arm she has holding him to her.
"When they let go of your father, I'll bring the girls home. Robb and I will," she promises, and Rickon's hold lightens.
"You have to promise," he insists.
"I promise," she says. She relaxes, thinking that he's been convinced, but then he jumps forward and out of her arms. She scrambles for balance, but she loses it anyway, falling forward to her hands and knees in the mud.
"You're lying!" Rickon screams as he runs off.
"Rickon!" she calls for him, her hand reaching for him as if she could bring him back.
But he doesn't look back.
They leave at night. Everyone retires early, and Robb and Cerelle manage a few hours of sleep before they have to get ready.
Eline is there to oversee their things, and Cerelle uses the opportunity to say goodbye. She cannot take Eline with her, nor would she ask it of her. Eline's whole life is in Winterfell.
"Eline," Robb says before they leave for Bran's and Rickon's rooms. "If you wish to marry Jorel, I will allow it. Maester Luwin has been informed."
"Milord," Eline gasps, bringing her hands to her chest. A smile threatens to break her face in two. "Milord, I cannot thank you enough."
"It is alright." Robb smiles at Eline, nodding his goodbye. Cerelle takes her hand, gives it a good squeeze and a smile before she too leaves, Eline's hurried footsteps echoing as they walk towards Bran's rooms.
Bran wakes with a start when Robb touches his shoulder.
They soothe him and explain they have to leave in the night. He looks scared, but he puts on a brave face. He begs to come with them, but they cannot allow it. Even if he could walk, a war camp is no place for a child.
As it is, Bran would now be Lord of Winterfell. They explain it to him. Cerelle pushes his hair back, tries to give him a reassuring smile.
Robb gives him the final instructions. He puts his hand on Bran's shoulder.
"Until I return," Robb says, looking at Bran for a few seconds before standing.
"Robb," she says, jaw clenched. Robb looks at her, but Bran doesn't take away his eyes from his older brother. She nods towards Bran, lips pressed to an angry line.
Robb stares at her for a few seconds before he gives in, sitting back down and pulling Bran close. He hugs him for a long time, and both sniffle at the same time when they pull away.
Robb chuckles.
"I'll come back," Robb promises, and Bran nods.
Cerelle gives him a kiss on his head before smiling at him, pinching his nose. Bran gives her a sad smile in return.
They leave then, towards Rickon's room.
But Rickon is not in his room, and a search for him gives them no results.
They have to leave without saying goodbye to Rickon.
She can see her breath in front of her when she mounts her horse. There is snow lightly falling, and Robb has snowflakes on his hair when he pulls his horse at her side, barely visible thanks to the torches.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"I'm sure," she answers, gripping Apple's reins with enough force to stop feeling her fingers in her gloves.
Robb nods.
They ride through the night and morning, only coming to stop by midday. Months ago, this would not have been a problem for her, but now she is tired and sore when they stop, not even a third of the way to Moat Cailin, where they will wait for the remaining forces.
There is no maid to ready her bath to soothe her muscles. There isn't even hot water. Their food is rationed, and her and Robb eat with the men, sometimes even eating as they ride. When they camp, they do it for more than one day, to give time to the enjoy the camp and plan what they can.
Men meet them on the road, and their numbers grow by the day.
When they stop, she trains with Ser Aedan, close to where the other men train. They have been putting spikes and swords into smallfolk hands, teaching to at least not die in the first five minutes of fighting.
Day after day, she grows stronger little by little. It takes time to stop getting winded, and it takes time to gain back her weight, but she forces herself to eat, and she forces herself to train, and though she is not battle ready by the time they reach Moat Cailin, at least she can last longer. She even manages to best Ser Aedan once.
Day after day, she comes to bed sore and dead on her feet, and Robb holds her close and massages her muscles when they cramp, and she offers the same to him. He trains, too, with the young highborn sons and daughters.
Grey Wind takes well on being on the move, running up and down the camp, terrorizing soldiers and putting fear into lords. She can see the respect on their faces when she pets him without hesitation, when she commands him and Grey Wind obeys as if she was Robb himself.
And yet she is still put to question when the letter arrives.