Chapter 23: There is no calm after this storm…

First week of the fifth month of the Year 298 AC

Winterfell

Robb Stark

This was a nightmare.

Everything was falling apart, his entire family was crumbling and he didn't know how to stop it. Bran was locked up in Maester Luwin's tower, and Mother was alternating between fretting in Bran's room and prowling around the tower like the mother wolf she was, disheveled and distressed. Rickon was stuck to Sansa's side and couldn't stop crying and Father had closed off and refused to talk to anyone.

And Kyria disappeared into her room.

Robb didn't know what to do with himself. He was panicking, how one was supposed to deal with something like that?!

The King was still here with his court and guards and family and they had to take care of them. Someone had to direct their people, and their needs and Robb had to be the one to do it. Because everyone else was falling apart and even if he was falling apart he was still the heir and he had to do something and-

Breathe.

He had done his duty. Painstakingly and with no clue over what he was actually doing half the time, he had done it. It was hard, to realize how little he was prepared for his life as Lord of Winterfell, even after having been trained for it most of his life.

He asked Old Nan to take care of Rickon, so he would stop sobbing in Sansa's skirts asking for Mother or Bran, and ordered Jory to reinforce the guards around the family. He then summoned Maerys and all the other handmaidens under his family's direct service and ordered the necessary preparation for Bran's room and the privacy of the rest of the family. The last thing they needed was a Lannister man too curious for his own good sneaking around in their wing.

In this hour of need, he had been surprised to find someone with enough clarity of mind to help him in his duties. As such, Sanya Poole, the steward's oldest daughter was a gift from the gods. And nothing like her little sister Jeyne who he could hear complaining almost every day somewhere in the keep. She and her father Valyon took one look at Robb and pushed him away from the books and numbers mocking him, all but ordering him to make himself useful elsewhere. Anywhere but around the books.

Robb did so.

Maester Luwin had requested the help of a handful of servants at some point, and Robb had begged Sanya to do something. With aplomb, she asked to bring her future husband to help, and as soon as he said yes, took care of the servants.

Even with them, and the help they offered him, Robb was overwhelmed. He never noticed before, so engulfed in his comfort and the easy life he lived. Now, having to maintain this same comfort for his entire family on his own put things in perspective. A disturbing perspective.

Am I nothing but a spoiled brat after all?

With no other option and far too many things to think of, he kept himself busy. Things to do, to plan, to organize. Letters to answers, problems to solve… It wasn't such a bad thing in the end, even it if was far more than what he expected. At the very least, it stopped his mind from spiraling out of control and into a panic he couldn't get himself out of. Yet another luxury he couldn't afford now.

Robb had never felt so lost. Things have changed so fast…

Days, hours ago, he had spent an entire afternoon with Bran watching the knights practice with all the excitement of the child Robb once was. It had been like a dream coming true. Watching as his little brother excitedly ran to Ser Jaime Lannister and begged for advice and stories from the best swordsman in all the Seven Kingdoms. He wanted to go back to this day when his biggest worry was the questions he had about the man who very well might have saved his sister's life.

Gods he wished his biggest worry was Jaime Lannister's odd behavior and looks, and his own failure to understand the man his father vilified so ardently every time he came to be a subject of conversation.

"My Lord…" asked the shy voice of a maid.

"What is it?"

"Steward Poole asked for your attention, my Lord…"

Of course… "I'll see him in Father's solar."

The girl bowed and disappeared. Alone again, Robb pushed his back against the cold rocks behind him and closed his eyes. He wanted to hide. Get away from this horrible day and forget it ever happened.

How did they end up in this mess? He wondered again and again.

"Robb?"

The young lord abruptly rubbed the salt off his face.

"Theon," he greeted.

Greyjoy slowly walked down the last steps separating him from his friend and pushed his back next to him against the wall. In a surprisingly thoughtful move, he kept his eyes away from Robb's face, safeguarding his friend's dignity.

"...So. Things didn't exactly go as planned did they?"

Robb snorted in his hands.

"Understatement of the year Greyjoy."

Silence followed.

"It is looking gloomy around here for sure."

"...It may have something to do with the night falling my friend."

"Assuredly. Though I was not only referring to the light."

It was a shame really, that Theon's thoughtful gesture only lasted so long as he wasn't forced to stay silent. Robb had noticed his friend's growing discomfort the longer silence remained around him, he wondered where such sensibilities came from. It was a subject he never dared to broach before, nor will he do it today. It was not the time, and he didn't feel well enough in control of his emotions to have any kind of conversation, never less one so sensitive.

"I had assumed as much."

"What happened?"

"Don't you know?"

"I have heard many things today, from many people. Now I am asking you."

Robb rubbed a tired hand all over his face, trying to erase the stiffness that came with tears and fatigue taking over his features. He still had things to do before he could finally let go of the weak control over his raging emotions in the safety of his room.

"There was a fire in one of the barns," he said slowly. "The entire thing broke down, all that was inside was burned." He paused and looked away. This whole thing was still hard to believe, no matter what he saw from the window of the Library Tower. The smoke, the flames…

"We believe… That Bran was climbing around the Wall close by. Or maybe walking on top of it like he enjoys doing when h-he wished to play," Robb furiously ignored the breaking in his voice as his last words rushed out of his mouth, "He was too close. Maybe he fell or- we don't really know what happened, but the thing is, he was too close to the flames."

There, said. Putting it in words for the first time was even more painful than the thought circling in his mind since he saw Bran's body being transported inside by a panicked Hodor.

"Did he-" Theon didn't dare finish his sentence. Nor would Robb have been able to hear it.

"Maester Luwin is with him."

He plunges his face back into his hand, his teeth gritting against each other to stop anything else from escaping. Now was not the time.

Theon's shoulder pressed against his and Robb cracked a sob he couldn't hold down. His friend remained silent, thankfully, getting back to this silent presence Robb had relied on since childhood.

"I need to carry on. There is still supper to attend to and-"

"Take a moment, Stark. No one will blame you for a single moment to compose yourself," argued Theon.

Robb remained silent. The comfort offered by that moment of weakness Theon suggested was tempting and oh-so-sweet to his ears. But he had a duty to his name, his family, and the guests they hosted. He couldn't afford any weakness, not now.

Still, for this blissful moment, Robb wished for Greywind. His wolf close to him would no doubt ease the pain in his heart, at least a little.

But Greywind, along with the other wolves was back in the kennels, and with so many soldiers on edge in the keep, Robb didn't dare risk another accident.

With one last long breath, Robb forced his back to leave the cold stones and took a determinate step in the Great Hall's direction. Theon silently followed him.

Dinner was a silent affair. Gloomy, as Theon had so skillfully called it, and silent like the dead. It made the skin on Robb's back ich. With everyone else indisposed or too upset for anything else, he was the only Stark at the main table, surrounded by golden lions and one fat stag. He played his role as well as he could, maintaining a long conversation with Tyrion Lannister over the game they played what felt like a decade ago, accepting the King's loud bark for his attention and ignoring to the best of his abilities the little princely prick and his snarky comments.

He left as soon as it was polite to do so, pretending to have things to discuss with his father. Which, to be fair, he had, though with everything else he didn't dare disturb him for anything but the news of Bran's recovery. He had asked Maester Luwin to send for him as soon as he had any news regarding his little brother and he in exchange, promised to inform his father immediately. He hoped it would be what Father wished to hear and what would finally shake him off his silent guard of the godswood.

Robb ordered a bath, selfishly caving into his need for any kind of relief on this dreadful night, and promptly let go of any dignity while collapsing in the nearest chair with a beasty grunt.

The manservants carried the heavy copper bathtub, followed by a chain of handmaidens who dutifully filled it with warm water. Robb remained silently watching, still entirely dressed and too numb to react to anything.

He dismissed them all once their duty was done and removed layer after layer of the clothes he was burdened with.

The water threatened to burn his skin, but the painful ache almost relieved him, forcing a new feeling to pierce through his mind and shake him out of his spiraling thoughts. The heat had the added delicacy of smoothing his knocked muscles and easing his nerves. Robb allowed his head to rest against the metal of the bathtub and closed his eyes.

How was he supposed to manage everything? The King demanded Father's presence, and Father refused to talk. He couldn't even allow himself the relief of a good scream and training session in the yard, for the need to keep some sort of control over his emotions and not to ridicule himself in front of the court.

What was he supposed to do now?

The water was cold when finally, he received news about Bran.

The boy will live.

Robb shakingly came out of his bath. Barely dressed, he pressed the handmaiden for details on his little brother's behalf. His hands shook as she hurriedly explained that, though his life is no longer in danger, the boy is still unconscious, and according to Maester Luwin's diagnosis, he will never be able to walk normally again.

"What do you mean?"

"The Maester said little Lord Bran's leg was badly burned, very badly burned, my Lord. His leg… it looked-"

Robb nodded.

"Say no more. When is Bran going to wake up?"

"It is too soon to tell, my Lord."

Robb prayed for more details, but when it became obvious that the girl knew little more than what she already told him, he dismissed her gently. He then contemplated the idea of finding his father to share the news with him, but just as quickly forgot it. He'd have all the time for that later on. And he knew already that the days were going to be much more complicated for him. He was going to need all the rest he could get.

GOT

Three awfully long days later, nothing was better despite his deepest wishes. Thankfully it wasn't worse either, merely hard and complicated in ways Robb had barely pictured before.

He found himself with a new growing respect for both his parents, whose daily life was to rule this keep and the people within. Three little days made him almost wish he wasn't the heir. But then, it was true they had important guests and the circumstances were in no way ideal for him to take the lead.

It was up to him, for those three days to manage everything. Mother was locked up in Bran's room since they moved him back there, and the rest of his siblings were either too young or too distressed to do anything. Not that he could blame them. As for Father, despite his best effort, Robb didn't get to talk to him, not once, since Bran's accident.

After three days, Father finally appeared. In all honesty, Robb could have cried. He almost did.

The man's face was closed up, somber like never before. He spared a glance at his son, before announcing to the whole assembly surrounding him his new position as Hand of the King.

Robb's mind stopped for a minute. The ramifications behind this declaration made his head swirl and blur with everything it was supposed to mean. He had known of course something like that was doomed to happen, with the King here for the first time since he took his crown. But having it happen was something else.

He didn't get to talk to his father directly until much later that day.

"You're leaving, then."

Tired gray eyes looked upon him. "The King ordered us to leave in two days. He is needed in the Capital."

And the fat man didn't want to remain in a gloomy castle with a sick possibly dying child, supposed Robb. He had been rather vocal on the subject after all.

"What should I do without you, Father? I can barely manage on my own while you are here…"

"Your Mother will help you."

"She hadn't left Bran's room! She is deaf to us all, even Rickon's cries are meaningless to her."

"She is scared Robb, after what happened to Bran-"

"Bran isn't her only child!"

The gray eyes hardened and Robb bit his cheek. He shouldn't yell. It wasn't anyone's fault what was happening. But in the safety of her mind, nothing stopped him from being hurt by the way their mother was behaving. Like they had all disappeared and only Bran remained close to her heart. He was an adult, and he could manage the situation, but the unfairness of it all, when it came to little Rickon was enough to make him want to throw something at that door and yell his lungs out at his mother for daring to abandon his little brother. Rickon didn't deserve to cry every night demanding why his Mother had stopped loving him.

"Your mother needs time to grieve the boy Bran could have been. These things are not done in a day. But despite the hardship life throws at us, we are still bound to our word. The King gave me a task, and I must make it my duty to execute it as it is expected of me."

Robb pressed his lips thinner, bound by his respect for his father to stop the harsh words from spreading out of his lips. But he wished he could say it all. How unfair it is for him to spare his mother's feelings when she doesn't take the time to take into consideration anyone else's. How cruel she is to her other children by pushing one above the others like they didn't have the same importance in her eyes like they had to be mortally wounded to be worthy of her undivided attention.

But Robb had learned many things this past year, and among them, when to remain silent. So he kept his mouth closed and listened to his father's words.

"We will leave in two days." repeated Father solemnly, "Your sisters are coming, too."

Robb's heart stopped.

"My sisters… all three of them, Father?"

Since when- Sansa he could understand, her betrothal with the prince had been announced almost immediately after the King and his court's arrival. He had many opinions on the subject, and none too flattering for the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. But Arya and Kyria too? Why?

"Arya is far too wild for the position she will one day have to occupy. Your mother and I both agree that some time in court would do well to tame her spirits," explained Father patiently.

It was hardly an explanation, nor was it a good reason. Robb knew his father enough to know this would be the only reason he would get from him.

"And what of Kyria?" he asked with a low voice.

Why would he have to be deprived of his sister's support?

"Sansa asked for her sister's support in the preparation of her wedding with the prince."

"Support? Kyria is not married yet, she knows nothing of the things a married woman should know. What support could she give?"

"She will be more akin to a lady in waiting for your sister, one she can trust implicitly and will be able to rely on. King's Landing is a hard place to live for such a young girl."

"Jeyne Poole would be just as good in such a role."

"Jeyne's sister is getting married in less than a month, she can not join us in King's Landing and assister her sister at her marriage."

Sanya Poole had three other sisters, she could spare one… thought Robb moodily.

Why Kyria? Her place was among them, safely in Winterfell. Having two of his sisters shipped down to the Capital, where he couldn't protect them was already hard enough, but three of them? He refused it.

"Father, I do not think this is a good idea. The three of them away from home-"

"This is no discussion, Robb. Your sister insisted."

"I understand Sansa would wish for her big sister's presence but-"

"No, son. Kyria insisted."

All protestation died in his throat. Kyria?

Why? Why would she want to go with them? She despised the South, their politics, especially the Capital!

…Alright, maybe not despised. He couldn't deny his sister's talent to decipher the games those southern lords enjoyed playing, and she had spent an awful amount of time studying it. But still… why go there when she could remain home where they would work to protect their family?

Robb let his father go with no further complaints, deep in his thoughts. He needed to talk to his sister.

He carried on his duties with the diligence asked of him, but his mind was elsewhere. Why would Kyria wish to take such a big risk and go to Kings Landing?

They had spent a lot of time speaking, and he thought they agreed that leaving Winterfell now wasn't a good idea. There was still too much they ignored, too many uncertain points in the information they had, and she, like him, had too little experience in the complicated political world to risk swimming through its waters. Why would she ignore all of this to confront players far more experienced than her in a game that might take her life?

It made no sense. Why take such a risk?

He knew her, she was stubborn and determined. It was very hard for her to hear when she was wrong. She had always been like that.

But after what happened, he would have expected some caution on her part. She said she had known something would happen to Bran. She had tried to save him, had even saved him from another fate, a couple of days before. But she didn't really stop anything, and Bran had been hurt anyway.

This one had always been a tricky situation. Robb knew of all of his sister's visions, and the one she had of Bran, the only one where she was safely able to name its subject without a doubt. For Robb it had always sounded like a warning. One she didn't listen to when she intervened. With that in mind, was it really a good idea to go South and try, again, to change what was shown in her visions?

All of this only pressed his need to talk to Kyria.

"Robb?"

He looked up, started by the sudden soft call of his name. Sansa was shifting in front of him, her large eyes full of worry.

"Sansa," he held a hand for her to take and she curled herself around his arm.

"Have you heard of Bran, brother?"

Robb sighed and squeezed the tiny hand in his. "Nothing has changed. He is still asleep."

He felt more than he heard the puff of air she exhaled against his arm. "Do you think me selfish? To leave for the capital while our brother is so ill? He was supposed to come with us, you know? He begged Father to come."

"I know, sweet girl."

"I am happy with my fate. I am to marry the prince. But when Bran wakes up I'll be long gone and- Shouldn't I feel this? Is it truly right for me to be happy when- when that happened? Can I even be happy at all?"

Robb sighed. Why did she have to come to him for that question? He couldn't stand her betrothed and if it was up to him the boy would be thrown out of the keep by his breeches, heir to the Iron Throne or not. He had nothing against Sansa getting married, he knew this was doomed to happen sooner or later. And despite Theon's many comments on the subject, he didn't think of himself as an overprotective brother.

But Sansa being trapped with a prick like Joffrey Baratheon? In his book, that was a problem. He couldn't say it of course. The gods be damned if he made his little sister cry. He hated when they did that.

Which might be why she came to him after all. Clever little wolf, coming to the brother she knew couldn't deny her anything, so he could say what she needed to hear to reassure herself. Kyria would have turned it into a mind game where Sansa was to say what she thought of it, and Arya would have been mad as soon as she started saying something like that. Arya's first reaction was always anger.

As for Rickon, he was too young to be of any help.

Robb twisted his mouth into a knowing smile. "Clever girl."

She batted long eyelashes at him, the deep blue of her eyes catching the sun just right, twinkling like fresh, sparkling water descending a melted meadow. "What do you mean?"

"You know that with those eyes, I can never refuse you anything."

She pushed her face against his shoulder, the twist of her cheeks he could still see from where she was hiding pulled up in a barely repressed smile. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course, you don't."

They fell into a comfortable silence, basked by the sounds of life running around outside the keep as their people tend to their daily tasks. A bird chirped close to the window. Robb was tempted to look, to see if he could see what type of bird it was.

"Robb…"

Ah, yes. He would have been foolish to think she would simply forget about her questions.

"The situation is hard for everyone, Sansa." he started. "And I cannot say what Bran will think when he wakes up. He lost his leg, he'll never be able to be a knight like he dreamed of."

She nodded and sniffed. Please don't cry, his mind begged.

"What I know is that the King made your betrothal official; you are now promised to his son and as such you have to go with Father, whether you like it or not. It is your duty. Bran will hear that. We have to pray he will."

He could simply… never wake up, after all. No one had dared say it out loud, but Robb knew it was a possibility.

She nodded again and nudged his arm. Robb stubbornly refused to look down at her, especially as the patch of fabric under her face became damp.

When a tiny sob escaped her, Robb caved and curled his arm around her. He gently rubbed her shoulder as she let go of some of the pain she might have kept to herself ever since she learned what happened. He suspected there might have been a lot of unresolved feelings boiling in that little head. He knew she had done her best to entertain the royal family, the children in particular, but also the Queen and her disgusting oldest son. There was no way a proper lady, like Sansa, would have cried or expressed any distress over Bran in front of such dignified company.

Maybe this was the first time she was able to cry over this…

His heart squeezed even more than before, and Robb comforted his little sister to the best of his limited abilities.

Gods but he hated when they cried.

GOT

He found Kyria later the same day, her arms deep in her wardrobe, pulling out dresses and shifts, with an eagerness he couldn't understand. Frost was on the floor of her room, watching his mistress moving with rapt attention. With Mother away in Bran's room and Father so occupied with the King, Robb had stopped pretending he didn't need Greywind with him. And, once he caved and freed him from the kennels, his siblings followed.

As if summoned by his thought alone, Greywind padded into the room and was welcomed by his brother with a lick on his black nose.

"You are leaving."

Kyria stopped moving for a moment, her back to him. She had pulled up her hair today, in this large mass which she got to stay in place with some kind of net. Even in such a way, the blob of curls reached the middle of her back easily. It always astonished him how long her hair was, how impractical it must be. The thing seemed to be kept in place by some sort of magical contraption only she knew of. Maybe it had something to do with the thick braid she had crowned her head with. "I am," she said at last.

"Why? You know you are needed here. I need you here Kyria, now more than ever."

Finally, she looked up at him. The circles under her eyes looked darker than ever. Had she even slept since that day?

"You'll do very well on your own, Robb, I have no doubt of that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you brother, you're smart and resourceful, there is no possibility of failure."

Robb frowned. That was horseshit. "I don't believe you."

"You underestimate yourself, Robb, honestly-"

"No. I don't believe this is your excuse. Now I ask again, why do you wish to leave?"

She sighed and looked away.

"Sansa needs me. I don't trust that boy to be as good as she thinks him to be. I need to protect her from her own foolish dreams."

This was more believable. But still… "This decision has nothing to do with what happened to Bran, then?"

She froze. "What…"

"You know what I mean, Kyria. We haven't talked about it yet. But we have to."

"Have we? I don't think there is much to say, brother."

Oh, gods. He knew that tone. It was the same tone she used when she closed herself up after her accident, when even asking how she felt was like insulting her entire lineage. Robb had not missed this tone.

Robb hoped that this time he would get through his sister's thick skull. There was no time for a rematch of their battle of will, unfortunately. Robb took a step further into the room and gathered his thoughts. Hopefully this time he would do better to ease up his sister's knotted-up emotions.

"Kyria, I won't ask you anything you don't want to tell me," he started slowly, "but I still wish to say this. You can tell me anything, you know this. I may never be able to completely understand what you are going through, but I can try."

She didn't talk. He couldn't see her face and didn't dare move to try and have a better view. After a moment of awkwardly standing in the middle of the room like a suitor begging for attention, Robb sighed and turned on his heels.

"It's not-" she stopped, and he stopped too, waiting. "It's not important," she said softly. "What I think about what happened is not important. I have to focus on Sansa and Arya, now. I don't want them alone in the middle of that viper nest."

"They wouldn't be alone, sister. Father will be with them."

She didn't say more. Taking her silence for the dismissal it was, Robb called on Greywind and left the room. It took everything in him not to just burst back inside and shake her stubborn little head until she finally talked about what was so obviously troubling her. But he held on to his temper and allowed her the peace she needed, confident that, despite her stubbornness, he remained the only one aware of her gifts and as so, the only one she could talk about it with.

He just hoped she would do so before the King's departure.

It was hours later that his patience was rewarded. On his way back to the Main Keep, he spotted the dim light of torches, right at the entrance of the crypts. Unusual, for no one really went down there at such an hour. In fact, since he, Jon, and Theon grew out of their childhood games, no one really went down there at all. Except for Father of course.

The inside of the crypts seemed to be even more sinister at night, despite the lack of daylight even when the sun was high in the sky. I had a strange atmosphere around it, something out of this world. Like the Starks of ages were watching, silent sentinels, witnesses of times long gone. It was said that for anyone but a Stark, the place was extremely uncomfortable and very hard to endure for more than a moment. Robb tended to believe it. Mother never went down there after all, and she was a Tully by birth.

Tonight, Robb found it was difficult for him too, oddly. It never was before. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the night outside, the weight of the dead pulling on him. Or maybe it was Kyria. Kyria curled up in the middle of the dark crypt, barely protected in her thin nightshift. Kyria sobbing loudly in front of the dead.

He was by her side in an instant.

"It's my fault," she bawled.

Her face was wet and red with salt and tears and snot, an ugly picture his normally poised sister hadn't shown since the early days after her accident. Nowadays she has taken the habit of veiling her most vulnerable moments, of hiding them deep within herself and only showing them on rare occasions. Never completely, never as furiously as before, but sometimes, she let go a little bit.

This was not a little bit. This was a lot. Too much. But there was no one here but him, and as he'd vowed hours ago, she could count on him to support her. He cuddled her close to him, her head bumping against his collarbone as he stroked the curls escaping her braid.

"It's not Kyria; no one could have predicted this."

"But I could. I did- I I can't stop thinking that if I had- if I've listened to this stupid dream Bran wouldn't be-"

He hushed her, already guessing where this was going. "He fell in your dream, Kyria. He was hurt too. You couldn't have lived with yourself had you not tried to save him."

"But they warned me!"

"I know, sister, I know."

"I should have listened to the warnings! They warn for a reason I should have- I should-"

"I know…" he said again.

She sobbed in his arms, and Robb held her. What else could he do?

"I'm scared, Robb…"

His spine straightened. Was she finally going to talk about it?

"I'm scared of what could happen to us now. If we go south… I don't want to go south, Robb…"

Robb's heart pinched in his chest.

"Nothing is forcing you to go, Kyria…"

She punched his chest, with so little strength in her tiny arm it barely caught his attention. But the tone of her voice was changing. Already the vulnerable, fragile Kyria she kept hidden deep within herself was retracting into her shell, leaving a harder facade he hadn't realized she was building around her heart. When did you start protecting yourself like that Kyria?

"Don't be daft brother, I have to."

He closed his eyes, mourning the innocence that was ripped off them both, of them all. He felt older than ever before, kneeling in the crypts, with the dead eyes of the statues around them and the silence of their eternal rest.

"Why would you have to?"

"Because of all of us, you and I are the ones really aware of how much things could go wrong." She explained through sniffs and drying tears, "We know because we spent all this time planning and preparing for every eventuality we could think of, and now our family, our pack is going to be split, and we can't let anything change. We have to protect our pack."

She was right. He knew, deep down, that all his time at the library had nothing to do with overindulgence on his part for his little sister's antics or her odd interest in things she shouldn't know as a lady. He knew, he had always known what she was doing. Since that very first day with her tales of dreams and gifts, she didn't know how to receive them. They had been preparing. For tomorrow, for the day after. It didn't matter. She had tried her hardest to prepare him. For the worst or the best of what would offer his future. Just as she had prepared Jon even before she knew he would be leaving for the Wall.

Maybe part of her knew they would one day have to part ways, for a time. Maybe she knew they would have to protect their family, maybe she knew she couldn't do as much on her own.

"When the snow falls, and the white wind blows," he started.

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives." They finished together.

She nodded against his shoulder.

"We are the Starks of Winterfell. We are the wolves of the North, descendants of the first men. Whatever happens, we are a pack and we will always be there for each other."

She nodded again. "I have to go south. But after Bran… what if my dreams are inevitable?"

That, he refused to believe.

"They are not. You saved Bran from his fall due to a dream–he may have still been harmed, but not because you saved him. The gods gave you an inch, a tool to protect our family, to allow us a way to safety, and to prevent anyone from hurting us. You can see them coming sister, and you are smarter than anyone I know. Whatever happens, you will succeed. I have no doubt."

"I hope you're right."

He nodded. "You will go south with Father and the girls, you will outsmart everyone in your way, and you will all come back unarmed to us. And everything will be as it was before."

He wasn't sure he was really believing this himself, but it had to be true. He had to keep faith in his sister.

"And if I don't?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I fail? If Father is hurt, if he doesn't want to leave his friend, if Sansa has to stay south all alone? What then?"

"If you can't come back, I will come for you," he vowed. "I will come for you all."

"Robb… you can't start a war because Father is stubborn."

"I can start a war for my family like Father did for his."

She protested a bit more, but he ignored it. He promised himself, as his eyes found the statue of Aunt Lyanna in front of which they were, eternally frozen in her youthful innocence. He promised himself, and he vowed to his aunt's stone face and outstretched arms, that he would fight for his family, for his pack, if the worst came to be.

When Kyria finally fell asleep, Robb scooped his sister in his arms and took her out of the crypts.

Right before the threshold of the Main keeps, just as the weight of Kyria's sleeping body started to slow down his steps, his eyes found piercing greens, watching him. Reminded of another time when he had to carry his sister to the keep under the eyes of this particular Lannister, Robb stopped. The man slowly prowled toward him, every step oddly silent and slow, a lion studying his prey.

"Lord Stark."

"Ser Jaime."

"No Kingslayer? I thought your father would have taught you better," mocked the man.

Robb did not rise to the bait, the memory of this same man carrying his sister protectively fresh in his mind. "I tend to want to make my own opinion of people, Ser."

The man hummed and looked down at Kyria's sleeping face. "Does this happen often?"

Robb moved up his sister's frame, his arm trembling under her weight. "A lot of things happened recently, Ser," was his only answer.

"Hm. I suppose yes." He looked contemplatively at Robb's face, his own feature tensed and ready, and for a second Robb thought he was going to say something. But then his eyes became veiled, less focused and he looked down at Kyria once more. Then he turned his heels. "I suppose I'll see you around Stark."

"Good night, Ser."

The man disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, and Robb resumed his walk. To his utter shame, the last steps to his sister's room were harder than he anticipated. He must be more tired than he thought.

He tucked her in and stayed a moment, watching her sleep. Was she dreaming? She hadn't screamed since those first months, but she dreamed a lot, still. Maybe down South where the Old Gods had less influence, the dreams would lessen too?

Maybe… He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Robb barely remembered coming back to his room. He didn't sleep. Not enough at least.

Morning came, and things started going faster around him, time fleeing and eating away the moments he had left with half of his family. Days melted together and every breath he took felt too fast, too much, too soon. He wished he could stop the time around him, stop breathing and just… bask in the crumbling feeling of his family still safe around him. But time didn't stop. To mock him, it only went faster.

Until it was time for them to leave.

Escorting his sisters to Bran's room might have been the hardest thing he'd done in a while.

Mother was there, like every other day and for a moment Robb had hoped… but she barely reacted. Stubbornly holding on to Bran's hand even as Sansa tried to embrace her and Kyria reached to press a kiss on her cheek. She blinked, looked down at the arms around her, and mumbled a vague wish for safe travels.

Something crumbled inside Robb's chest. Something soft, warm, and naïve, he associated with his mother and the tender moments of his childhood. Seeing Sansa's face fall down confronted with her mother's indifference, and then stumble back up as she tried bravely to remain composed made him want to break something. The single tear rolling down Kyria's face was even harder.

He had to chase Arya in the yard to stop her from running away after her own goodbyes. She punched him, repeatedly.

"Arya-"

"It's unfair!" she cried angrily.

"Ar-"

"Bran was supposed to come with us! Mother is supposed to come down and wish us farewell! She's ignoring everyone! It's unfair!"

"Arya!"

He pressed her against his chest and waited for the storm to pass. After a moment, she whined loudly and hit his chest once, twice, then finally stopped and allowed him to hug her.

He was suspiciously cuddly these past few days…

"I know it's unfair Arya, but Mother… she is very troubled right now. I am sure she will write to you as soon as she is better."

Arya hit him again.

"Liar. She only cares for Bran."

Robb bit a wince, it was difficult to argue with something he agreed with. But she couldn't leave for the South thinking she wasn't loved.

"Nonsense, she loves you too underfoot. And she'll miss you dearly."

She grumbled but didn't argue more.

"And anyway, I am here and I will wish you farewell. I'll even write to you if you're nice to me."

She grumbled again but this time it sounded almost like a laugh. Robb smiled, satisfied.

He walked her back to her room where Nymeria was chewing on a glove with great attention. The scolding the wild she-wolf received managed to tear a laugh out of him.

"Stop laughing, stupid! It's not funny!"

But then she broke and laughed too, and for a moment, everything was fine.

Then Jory knocked on the door and asked if Arya had packed her things, and the laughter died.

Less than two hours later, Robb was lined up with little Rickon glued to his side, and the rest of the household aligned behind him. He hugged Arya for a long time, kissed Sansa's forehead, and allowed Kyria to hold his forearms in hers in a strange farewell he wasn't sure he understood. Before he could ask though, he noticed. It only lasted a second but something shifted in her eyes. It reminded him of that day on their ride. In the blink of an eye, they appeared… white.

"Robb…" she said.

He was barely able to hear her, she spoke quietly, certainly so he was the only one able to hear. In an attempt to hide what he was suspecting was going to happen, he pushed her in his arms and tried to keep her face hidden from view.

She talked then. His breath caught in his throat, and Robb listened, like the gods themselves were talking to him.

"Temptation will come, brother," she whispered, "Remember. Love is the death of duty. A man is only as good as his word is. Keep it. Whatever happens, you must keep it."

Her hands shook against his chest and Robb pressed her harder.

"Keep it and you might survive."

"Alright Kyria," he shushed, cold dread pooling in his blood with each word.

"Do it, brother. Winter is coming. Faster than you know. A man is only as good as his word is."

Her throat emitted an odd sound as if she was swallowing back something thick. He thought it over. But then-

"We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark."

Robb's mind stopped.

"Wha-"

"I love you, Robb."

Her arms dropped and he let go of her. With one last, long look, Kyria twisted her lips into a smile and turned around.

By the time his mind was working again, the last soldiers of the King's party were leaving Winterfell, his sisters, and father long gone, in front of the line of horses and carriages. Rickon's heartbreaking sob echoed in the emptying yard and Robb didn't know…

What…. what was this supposed to mean?

"Kyria…"

TWQ.