Robb

His mother had not left Bran.

Not since the fall. She hardly ate, and for the past fortnight she had not left his bed side. Day and night, she remained his brother's constant vigil. It was only her that fed him, changed his sheets when they were soiled and always kept her hand tight on his, closed tight around his feeble one like a claw.

It was watching this for watch must have been the hundredth time that Robb made his decision, and he meant not to be swayed from it. He knew that he had probably left it too late, but it was all he could do, his heart did not have the strength to deny the fact. Impatiently, Grey Wind nudged at his leg, and with the direwolf's urging, Robb eased the door to Bran's sickroom closed again, and turned on his heels.

It was a long walk down to the yard.

Robb felt as though another weight had gone on his shoulders, which made him feel sick. He had hoped that by finally coming to a decision all the weight would go from him. Yet he supposed that part of the rouble was that he had not told anyone of his new resolve.

Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off. At the centre of the commotion was Prince Rickard astride his ancient, black, imperious charger, smoking a pipe that he gestured with occasionally, and bending low from his mount to issue instructions to Harrold Hardyng and his Lannister cousins or otherwise barking them across the yard at offending retainers and servants.

The Prince saw him as he approached, grinned at him, and dismounted his horse. Grey Wind ran ahead when he saw Rickard, his ears pricked up at the scent of him, tongue lolling out of his mouth to lick his hand as the Prince scratched him behind the ear and patted his head.

When his gaze turned down from the direwolf and back to meet Robb's he then moved forward, grinning.

Suddenly, Robb became unsure of himself. He found he had smiled back at the Prince but struggled to maintain it. Rickard paused when they came within arm's reach of each other, as if he could sense that something was off within him.

"Soon for the off," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah," replied Rickard, watching as Grey Wind resumed his spot by Robb. "Some of the party has already gone out, to get ahead of the crowd. Your Uncle Benjen's champing at the bit to be off already." A half-hearted laugh followed the Prince's words, that Robb felt almost honour bund to join.

An awkward silence followed, and Robb tried to swallow but his mouth was suddenly too dry, his voice croaking when he tried to speak again. "I've just been to see Bran," both his and Rickard's heads dipped, neither one able to look at the other now, "he's still asleep. And my mother is still with him."

"Good," Rickard grunted, sniffing to take the air, "devoted woman, your mother. Loves her children."

Robb nodded absent minded, "Yeah… and she needs me. You see, my Prince…" He looked up at Rickard again, who was suddenly reaching out and squeezed him by the shoulder. "They need me…" It seemed weak to say it, to admit the fact, and the urge to excuse him from the feeling rose up from a black corner of his gut, "If… if my Father weren't going South then…" But the Prince's words cut across him.

"Robb, I don't expect you to come. Not now," his hand squeezed his shoulder once more, "Your family needs you. Of course, you must stay here, for now."

What must it be like, to be a Prince. To be the inheritor of such nobility, blessed with the finest senses, all infinite in number. To have the flawless reason, to have it in oneself the ability to direct and polish any argument, yet have the grace and tenderness to hold yourself as any other man, to think others your equal, if not more than yourself. How to think that you are part of the Earth as mere mortals, when you are as close to Gods and the Others.

Suddenly, Rickard had started laughing and wrapped his arms around Robb lifting him off the ground in vast bear hug. It startled Robb at first, and he had no sooner realized than Rickard had put him back with both feet on the ground.

He walked the Prince back to his horse, Grey Wind sniffing at their footprints as they stepped through the snow.

"I won't miss the cold, I promise you," Rickard noted, looking around as the snowfall picked up speed, "But I'll be glad to see you again."

"Aye," Robb said, holding the bridle of the Prince's horse as he mounted it once more. It seemed to whicker impatiently until Rickard was back astride and could take the reigns in hand himself. "I'll admit I'll be glad to leave this snow behind myself."

"I look forward to that day, Robb," and the Prince leant back down hand outstretched, "Good luck, my friend."

"Goodbye, Rickard," he said, shaking the open hand, "and good luck with your lady."

The Prince laughed and looked wistfully toward the road leading out of Winterfell, "I shall need it, Gods know. But something to comfort me at night: Goodbye Robb Stark, hello My Lady Martell."

Robb smiled, but he couldn't help but fear for the Prince and the fact he was talking suddenly so openly about her, "What will you do? About the Princess, I mean."

He watched the Prince sigh, suddenly downcast as he shrugged. "Marry her?" he suggested, "Or else go mad!" He must have read the look of horror on Robb's face, because he then said, grinning wide, "Oh don't worry, I wouldn't dream of it without you and Theon there." And despite the ill feeling about the way Rickard had mentioned marriage, he joined the Prince in a laugh. "Speak of the devil. How now, Greyjoy."

"Still here, Rickard?" Theon grinned, brushing the falling snow out of his hair, "Thought surely the guards would have had you toss out on your Princely snout by now."

Rickard chuckled, "I would be gone, but I'm waiting some of my cousins to be rounded up." He turned his horse about and shouted, "Tyrek! Ready for the off?!"

The Lannister was sat on the front of a cart, arguing with the passengers he had in the back, but turned to nod and give thumbs up to the Prince. Harrold Hardyng also approached, on the back of his own smaller, brownish steed, he was wrapped up tight in furs and held his gloved hands under his armpits to warm them.

"Let's be off then, Rick. Unless you fancy riding face to face with Joffrey's arse."

"No, no, Harry. We should go before everyone else starts to pile out. Farewell, Theon."

"Goodbye, My prince. Harry."

"Till next, Greyjoy. Hope to see you both South soon, Stark."

"As do I, Hardyng. Don't be afraid to visit North, in the meantime."

"Oh no," Rickard announced, suddenly grinning, "next time its our turn to play host to you." And without further argument, put his heels into his stallions flank, and motioned grandly for the cart full of Lannisters to follow him. He called over his shoulder a final time as he moved beneath the gate, "Farewell, Robb. Farewell, Winterfell! May I know you both in warmer weather!" And disappeared beneath the portcullis.