So it's been a while. I'm just going to say sorry and thank all you that have continued to stick with this story through the hiatus and those of you that have come along since then! Thank you for reading, the alerts, the favorites, and especially the reviews. I sincerely hope you all enjoy the new update and would be very grateful if you would leave a review after! The opinions and feedback are always so encouraging. Sharing your thoughts always gives me new ideas and inspiration!

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Chapter 34: Lamenting the Lost

Heavy darkness lay over a barren, still landscape. The grey trees, petrified in death, looked as frail as skeletons, branches ready to snap with the slightest breeze, winter and age having made them weak. The cold burned her lungs every time she tried to draw breath. She felt the ice forming in her nostrils, her eyes stinging in the harsh chill of the air.

Covering her mouth in a pitiful attempt to stop the pain, she stumbled forward. She had almost no sensation in her legs. Her feet kept moving, but they were invisible on the dark, frozen ground. She had to find them. She had to. She had little notion of how she would, but her whole world depended on it. She had to find them; otherwise, all she loved and held dear would perish, buried beneath snow and ice. So many already had.

She blindly continued forward, exhausted, but she knew if she closed her eyes for even a moment, she'd probably never wake again. It hurt to force her limbs through the heavy snow, but she had no other way but forward. There was nothing worth looking at behind her, nothing that would help. Forward, forward, forward...

When her foot hit the ice, she hesitated. A frozen river lay before her, a flat plain extending into the darkness. She stepped forward slowly, testing her weight, relieved when it didn't crack. She then took another step, and another. The ice remained firm, thick, steady. It wasn't surprising. Many moons had passed since the ice had cracked. It was too deep; the cold was too relentless, and the dark clouds above made the world an endless night.

The sudden sound deafened her. She'd grown too used to the silence. The fire blinded her, burned her worse than the cold. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the ice gave way beneath her, turning into a raging river almost instantaneously. She had forgotten how to swim long ago, but even if she could, she would not have fought the cold waters pulling her under. Ice and fire. Both would destroy, both burned, so she would rather succumb to the dark, churning ice beneath than the swirling fire above.

She closed her eyes in surrender, let the water fill her lungs as her muscles relaxed. Just as the burning stopped, something grabbed her, jerking her upwards. She choked on the water as her eyes shot open, her mouth drawing in a gasp. A white hand gripped her wrist, yanking her to the surface. She fell face forward onto the bank, gasping for the air that had burned her only moments before. It took her a good while before she had the strength to look up. She first saw the hem of the tattered black cloak, brushing the ground as the person shifted. Their movements ceased as she turned towards them and pushed herself up. Her eyes trailed up the black cloak to the frail shoulders it rested on and the wide hood that obscured her savior's face. The cloaked figure would not look at her, so she could not make out any of their features. As she shifted to her knees, the figure turned from her and began to walk away.

"Wait!" She croaked. She reached a shaking hand towards the figure as they paused. "Who are you!?" She demanded. "Where am I?"

The figure responded with a moment of silence, then it took another step away from her.

"I need your help!" She pleaded. "Please!"

"Are you sure?" The figure whispered. It's voice made her shiver, popping like the cracking of ice. Then it looked over its shoulder at her, and she saw. Eyes like glowing star sapphires boring into her soul.

Hazelyn awoke with a gasp, shaking in fear. Why did she feel so cold!? She clutched the bed furs to her body as she sat up. A pain needled at her stomach, making her hiss in response. She slipped her hand there to steady the baby, but instead she felt flabby flesh as her eyes swept across the room. A low fire crackled in the hearth, but the chamber was empty. Empty, just like her, it occurred to her, as her nails kneaded her flat stomach. She felt so empty, so lifeless lying there.

Though sluggish, Hazelyn cast the covers off of her and scooted the edge of the bed. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she made her way over the nearest window. Robb must have instructed they be kept open. He knew she liked the fresh air. She almost smiled at that, but not quite. Gripping the stone ledge for support, she leaned out, and like a flower, soaked in the golden rays of the mid day sun and clean air to give her strength for the rest of her day. Energized, she drew back in and hobbled over to her dresser to dig out the simplest garment she could find to dress herself in. She winced as she stepped into the dress and had to sit down as she did up the laces; she felt so weary, but it felt good, to have a task to make her weary again.

She swore Myna, Robb, and Maester Luwin must have conspired together to keep her prisoner in her bed at all times. Any time she rose to fetch something from across the room, Myna would chide her and grab it instead. Robb had not let her anywhere near his mother's solar to look over the ledgers, even though his mother still sat senseless in Bran's room. Any time she insisted to Luwin that she felt better, he said she needed to rest. But she didn't want to. She needed to be up, busy, occupied. If she sat around, resting all day, she'd have time to think, and it all would become real. She couldn't let it, she refused.

Stealing her resolve, Hazelyn exhaled and pushed herself up from her chair. She set her face in a flat, calm mask, even though her middle burned with increasing pain every step she took. She opened the chamber door and looked left and right cautiously before stepping into the hallway, determined to steal away to her good mother's solar to review the accounts. It would be a much needed change of scenery, and it wouldn't be too exhausting to sit at Catelyn 's couch doing sums. She walked slowly down the hallway, her hands balled into fists as she fought against her aching muscles. She could do this. She'd prove to all of them, to herself, that she was getting better. She repeated this mantra, feeling more triumphant with each step she gained, until she reached the top of the stairs. Cringing at the narrow stone steps, she attempted to conquer the first one. Such a little step, something any child could accomplish-!

"Damn!" She clutched her stomach as a sharp jab struck between her leg, leaning on the wall for support so she didn't tumble down the stairs. It hurt so badly, worse than when she got kicked by a filly when she was learning to ride. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. She was fine, she told herself. But she didn't believe it. Lies could fool others, but not her own heart. She fought tears as she took deep breaths. She had to get down the stairs, to Catelyn's solar. She didn't want to return to her bed, to be reminded. She didn't want to feel, to sleep, to dream about things she didn't understand. 'Are you sure you want my help?' something whispered. She opened her eyes in surprise and glanced around, just as a massive black direwolf came bonding up the stairs towards her.

"Shaggy!" Rickon called, galloping after his wolf. Hazelyn sighed in relief as the wolf stopped short of her, turning at his master's call. The little boy giggled as the giant pup dove at him, licking him across the face. Hazelyn smiled a little, but it faded as soon as her hand brushed her aching middle. She'd never get to see her own son play like that.

"Hazel, what's wrong?" She glanced down to see Rickon tugging on her skirt, a deep pout on his face.

Hazelyn reached down best she could, ruffling his reddish brown hair. "Nothing, sweetling."

"Is that so?" Hazelyn flinched as she leaned up again to see Luwin climbing the stairs towards them, his grey brow furrowed and a strict frown on his face.

"M' lord," the merchant addressed Robb, sweeping into an over exaggerated bow. This same man had tried to soften his father with honied words once, only to find that Lord Stark was not swayed with praise. Soon, Robb thought, he will find the same in his son. "May the gods watch over your Lord father on his travels and your brother as he heals." Robb waved the man up, too tired for platitudes at that point. He wanted no more reminders that his father had left, that both his brother and wife still lay a bed, one broken and the other childless. He fought not to sag in the massive Lord's seat as his eyes cast across the Great Hall to the still lengthy line of small folk behind the man, instead opting to glance under the table at Grey Wind, curled up by his feet and snoring rather loudly. He felt a prick of jealousy. Sleep for the both of us, my friend.

He wanted to get done listening to these town folks' petty problems so he could go take care of more pressing issues. He thought to check again that there were enough provisions in the stores, or to do something more relaxing like drill with the soldiers for a few hours, before he retired for the evening to spend time Rickon or Theon. Maybe he could even coax Hazelyn or his mother out of their stupors. Yet, his father had always told him how important it was to give the smallfolk a voice, a chance to speak of their problems and for Lord to show them his concern. Robb sighed, rubbing his temple as he tried to stop his torrent of worries. How his father handled all of these responsibilities and kept sane, he would never know.

"M 'lord?" Theon nudged him from his chair next to the Lord's seat. Robb had told his friend he didn't need to be present for the audience, but Theon had simply scoffed at him. "Are you mad Stark? If Luwin can't attend you because he's babysitting your brothers, you need someone with brains by your side to advise you. How else will we keep the secret that you're just a a pretty face?" That had earned the Iron born a well aimed jab in the gut, but Robb appreciated his presence none the less.

Robb blinked, pulled from his distraction. "I apologize. What was it that you asked again?"

The merchant narrowed his eyes just a fraction, but continued on. "I ask, m'lord, for justice." He pointed an accusatory finger towards the back of the hall. "After being cheated out the payment I'm due from that wench." Robb frowned, following the man's jab to a woman standing in the middle of the receiving line. She cowered, clutching a child little more than a babe to her breast while clinging the hand of another small child. All of them had dirt on their faces and wore threadbare rags.

Robb motioned the woman forward, keeping his face passive as to not frighten her. A guard gently guided her towards the dais. She almost stumbled, her legs shook so much. She couldn't be much older than Robb was himself. "What services did you take from this man?" He asked in a calm tone.

" 'E gave my husband seed for crops m'lord." The young woman couldn't even look him in the eye. "They were growin' fine, but then a fever took my Gren. I'd just had my second babe and had no one to help me mind fields, so rot took 'em. I'm tryin' to earn enough by sewin' and helpin' where I can, but..." She trailed off, her face red with shame.

Robb felt an immense pity for the woman. He'd just as soon wave all her debts and send her home with at least enough rations to last her and her babes a few days. He glanced up at the merchant. The man was clothed in fine leathers, linens, and a silken cape, his neck adorned with a small ridiculous looking golden bauble. He didn't seem to be doing badly for himself, and probably wouldn't hurt from losing whatever small sum that was owed him. Father had always said mercy was important, but he'd also taught Robb that all men should be treated fairly under the law, and if the woman's husband had taken a loan from the merchant, he was within his rights to demand the payment agreed upon.

Robb rubbed his brow and sighed in thought. "You are owed a debt that should be paid." He nodded at the merchant. The man puffed his chest as he turned to smirk at the woman. "But I will not throw a widow with young children into the dungeons."

The merchant scowled. "But-"

Robb held up his hand, narrowing his eyes. "The woman will be given a job within my household, and some of her wages will be given to you until all debts are paid." He looked at the young mother, softening. "Speak to the steward in the back of hall, and he will find you a place."

The woman grinned, her eyes shining. "Thank you m'lord!" She bobbed best she could, then shuffled away with her children. The merchant huffed, unsatisfied with the judgement, and it took the nudging of the guard to make him leave.

Robb rose from his chair, and in the most authoritative voice he could manage, he announced, "No more petitions will be heard today. The hall will be opened again for audiences upon the morrow." He schooled his face into a neutral expression, ignoring the grumbling of some of the men in the line as he exited the room, Theon by his side and Grey Wind trailing close behind. He tried to not think about the fact that when he sat in listening to petitions with his father, he'd never seen such displays of discontent.

Theon yawned as they strolled down the corridor. "Well, those are a few hours of my life I won't get back." Robb chuckled and shook his head, but didn't deny it either. "How about a spar in the tiltyard to shake this boredom off, Stark? Get the blood pumping and all that." Theon grinned. "I'll let you warm up with a few guards before I knock you on your arse."

Robb smiled, "Aye, that-"

Grey Wind interrupted him with a deep bark, nudging Robb in the leg. He frowned down at the wolf pup. "What is it?"

"He probably just wants a bone from the kitchens." Theon shrugged. Robb ignored him. There was strange tugging in his gut as Grey Wind turned to scurry ahead, only to almost bowl over a manservant rounding a corner. The poor man stumbled back a bit, put off by the wolf.

"Grey Wind, to me." Robb snapped his fingers. He felt a small bit of satisfaction when the pup immediately responded and returned to sit by his feet.

"M'lord," the servant bowed, eyeing Grey Wind as he did.

"Yes?"

"Maester Luwin sent me to fetch you. The little lord and his wolf have gotten out of hand again."

Robb sighed. It had to be fifth time in just as many days that Luwin had fetched him to rein in his brother. Rickon had always been an excitable lad, but since Bran's fall, and even more so after Father's departure, he'd started throwing tantrums that not even the wise old maester could calm. Robb nodded warily, wishing suddenly for the calmness of the Great Hall, where the grievances of the smallfolk toed the line between dull and necessary. "Where are they?"

"The maester's tower, m'lord."

"Thank you, I'll see to it." Robb waved the man away and then frowned at Theon. "I guess I'll have to you down."

Theon gave his shoulder a shake. "No worries Stark. I'm sure I'll find plenty of fools to knock into the dirt. Perhaps I'll catch you for a drink this evening."

Robb smiled gratefully. "Looking forward to it." Drinks with Theon in the evening seemed to be the only thing keeping him sane the past fortnight. He watched his best friend saunter away with no small amount of envy, and then, blowing out a deep breath to shore his patience, he headed off to the measter's tower with his wolf in tow.

He could hear the screaming before he even made it to the corridor. He picked up his pace and started jogging when he heard snarling.

He turned the door handle, only for Grey Wind to push door open forcefully, charging into the room. Robb watched wide eyed as he tackled a growling Shaggydog.

"DON'T! STOP IT! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Rickon screamed. His wolf fought against Grey Wind for dominance. "WE WANNA LEAVE! LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"Rickon!" Robb snapped. The little boy jerked towards him, looking up at his older brother with flushed cheeks and watery blue eyes. His sudden silence made Shaggydog stop struggling enough so Grey Wind could pin him. The black wolf seemed to lose most of his fight then, lying down in an almost docile manner as his brother laid atop him. For a brief moment, Robb wondered how Sansa's face would beam at the soft sight, cooing at the two massive wolves for being so tame. Alas, his sister was miles away.

"Rickon, what are you doing?" Robb demanded firmly, walking into the room.

Rickon trembled in anger and pointed an accusatory finger. "I wanna go run in the godswood with Shaggy, but they won't let me!" Robb looked up to see who "they" was besides Luwin, and found standing near the old man in a corner of the room was his wife, Hazelyn. Robb tensed his jaw, knowing there was only one reason she'd be in the maester's tower while Luwin was teaching lessons.

He pushed his frustration away, intent on fighting one battle at a time. "But don't you have lessons?" Robb crossed his arms.

"I don't want read anymore stupid books!" Rickon stomped his feet, his whine rising in volume to a shout.

"You have to finish your lessons before you can play. You know that." Robb scolded. "And you will not throw tantrums, do you understand me?"

"NO!" The child wailed, his cheeks flashing crimson. "You're not Father, and she's not Mother!" He jabbed a small finger towards Hazelyn.

Robb stood firm. "But you will listen to us all the same, or else you'll spend the rest of the day in your room without Shaggy." Rickon glared at him. "I mean it, Rickon. You either finish your lessons, or go to your room and Shaggydog can spend the night chained in the kennels." For a long moment, the child only glared at his brother, seething with anger until even his wolf started to fidget again. Robb tensed, not sure what he would do if Rickon lashed out. How would Father have dealt with him? How would Mother? He did not want to punish the boy, because, as Rickon said, he was not his father. He wasn't a father at all, not anymore.

"Little wolf." Hazelyn stepped inbetween him and Rickon, focused on the little boy, but with her hands extended towards both of them in a steadying gesture, as if they were direwolves themselves, snarling and ready to charge. "You need to work hard at your lessons."

"I don't want to!" Rickon growled. "I don't need them!"

"Maybe not." She nodded as she slowly approached. Rickon took a step away and Shaggydog let out snarl. Robb moved a pace forward as Grey Wind growled harshly and leaned more weight over his brother. But then Hazelyn glanced at Robb, her eyes sharp as she gave a quick shake of her head. He paused as she turned back to his little brother. "Bran needs you to though," she murmured, kneeling down to bring herself eye level with Rickon. Robb didn't fail notice the way her hand clutched her stomach briefly.

"How are stupid lessons gonna help my brother!?" Rickon snapped.

"Who will be Lord of Winterfell if Robb isn't here? Bran can't. You'll have to lead our pack if Robb is away."

"Robb's leaving?" Rickon's voice rose in pitch and his eyes widened, showing the vulnerable child he was.

"No." Hazelyn shook her head. "Not today sweetling, but he might have to visit some your father's bannermen, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, a true wolf to lead the pack. And since Bran is asleep still, you'll be the only Stark who can. How will you know how though if you don't listen to Maester Luwin?"

"I-I don't know." Rickon glared at the ground, but his pouty lip trembled.

"Do you understand why you need to finish your lessons now?" Hazelyn asked quietly.

Rickon let out a sob as he gave a tiny nod. "Please don't chain Shaggy up." He glanced toward his big brother.

Hazelyn extended her arms to him and the little boy tackled her, hugging her as he began to cry into her shoulder. She rubbed his back and made soft, soothing noises to calm his wails. Robb's face softened at the sight, but he felt a sharp ache form in his chest too. He swallowed hard before he walked over and knelt next to his little brother and wife.

"I won't Ric, as long as you attend your lessons, alright?" He placed his own hand on the boy's shoulder.

Rickon sniffed as he looked at Robb. "You mean it?"

"Aye, I mean it." He smiled when Rickon grinned and then dove at him.

"Thank you!"

Robb chuckled and squeezed Rick tightly to his chest before he pulled back and placed a brief kiss on his forehead. "Now," he sighed, standing up. "You study hard, and then you can frolic all you like with Shaggy after."

"We're not going to frolic." Rickon's grin betrayed the grumble of his little voice. "We're going to hunt!" He let out a little howl, making Robb laugh even more. "I dreamed I hunted the godswood and caught a little mole. I want to catch a rabbit now!"

"Very well then." He then looked at Luwin. "I'll leave Grey Wind here to keep Shaggy in line until you're done for the day."

"Very good, my lord." Luwin nodded obediently, but gave Robb a proud smile that made the younger man feel a little lighter inside. While no one would ever be his father but Eddard Stark, Luwin had seen him grow, had seen all his missteps and stumbles, had seen him become a man. He almost was like a grandfather to him, even more so than the one that still lived, the stranger who was lord of Riverrun.

A little grunt made both men turn their eyes towards the young woman struggling to get up. Luwin's smile dipped into a frown. "My lady, you need to not fluster yourself. Do too much, too fast..." His was a gentle warning, but his tone heavy as he remembered the day death came to Winterfell.

Hazelyn grimaced as she stood. "I'm fine. I-"

"I'll take her back to our chambers and ensure she rests," Robb cut her off, intent that such an argument not break out in front of his brother. He ignored Hazelyn's narrowed eyes as he gently gripped her elbow.

The silence hung heavy over them as he led her back to their bed chamber, because they both knew what was coming. He knew she resented his treatment of her. She hated weakness in herself more than anything else. He felt her tense under his fingers every time he forced her to slow down so he could help her up or down a step. But he could also see in the way she clenched her jaw, heard her occasional sharp intake of breath, when she stepped the wrong way.

No sooner had he shut their bed room door did she yank herself free of his grip and turn on him, her glare cold. He stood silently and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

"Why is it that you and everyone else insist on treating me like a child?" She demanded, jaw clenched as she moved to distance herself from him.

Robb ran a hand through his hair. Right to the fighting then? "Hazel, you're still recovering."

She balled her hands into fists, biting her lip before she uttered her favorite phrase as of late. "I'm fine, and I have duties to attend to. How much longer can the household accounts go unattended? Am I so easily replaced, that you want to keep me hidden like you do? Has your mother even left you're brother's room since his fall?"

Robb winced at the mention of his mother, yet another person he had to worry about. No matter how much he and Luwin had coaxed her, she'd not left Bran's side. She'd lost weight, and it was a battle to even get her to change her gown. Robb feared for her mind, that she would be so lost to her grief and fear that she would never be herself again, a mad woman wearing his mother's skin. But he tried to hide all his doubts behind a stern frown. "No she hasn't, but they're being tended to. You needn't worry yourself over -"

"It:s my job to worry about them Robb," Hazelyn hissed.

"No, your job right now is to heal. One you've not done very well at." Robb fought to keep his tone even. "How many times has Luwin told you to rest and then you've wondered off when our backs our turned?"

Hazelyn let out a derisive scoff. "This is ridiculous. I'm a woman grown! Even your little brother walks the castle unattended. I don't need someone to mind me every second of the day."

Robb grit his teeth. He was trying to help her; why did she make the task so difficult? "You do if you continue to disobey the maester like a child and don't take his counsel seriously."

Hazelyn looked away, chewing her lip before she turned back towards him, her glare frigid. "I am fi -"

"YOU ALMOST DIED!" The words escaped before he could think. He just couldn't handle her uttering those words again. "Our son DIED, and had Luwin been less skilled or Sansa not found you, I would've had to bury both of you, not just him!"

Hazelyn stood petrified, her eyes wide in shock. Robb stared at her, chest heaving. Hazelyn's mouth opened and closed several times like a fish, before it pressed tightly shut. For an instant, Robb thought he saw her lips quiver, he almost hoped, some dark part of himself that he had not known of before. But then her face smoothed out and her eyes got that vacant look that he dreaded. She turned from him and sat on the bed.

Curse his temper. He stepped towards her, reaching out. "Hazel-"

"Don't." She didn't even look at him, holding her hand up.

Robb ignored her command, sitting next to her. He grabbed her hand and held it firmly even as she tried to withdraw it. "Hazel, I'm sorry," he pleaded softly. "I just..." He went silent, afraid to utter the words. "I almost lost you. After everything else, I can't..." He shook his head and squeezed her hand.

Hazelyn had given up pulling her hand away, but she still refused to face him. "Hazel, look at me." He needed to see her eyes.

But she remained like a statue, still and silent. Slowly, he moved closer to her, then put his hand on her face, turning it towards him. He felt relieved that she didn't resist, but with an expression still vacant and hard, her eyes seemed to stare through him, to something far away. Part of him wanted to weep at her retreat, to feel the despair of the death of their son overcome him as he was left alone to mourn him. But Hazelyn was here, her heart beating, her blood warm. She was still alive, and they did not have to suffer alone. They would not. A strange sort of panic seeped into his blood, and he thought if he did not make her understand soon, she would close herself off forever, to deny him the comfort of knowing her. "The way you handled Rickon this afternoon, it was amazing. The way you read to our son, when he was still in your belly, it was amazing. You have a warm heart, Hazel. Gentle and understanding, even after losing our son. You're a wonderful mother, even though he isn't here for it."

Hazelyn's eyes finally met his, but he found no warmth. "I'm not a mother though. Not anymore." She gripped his wrist and removed his hand from her face. "I'm only a lady, but you won't let me even do that." A small flicker of emotion entered her eyes.

Robb swallowed, stung, but was heartened by the crack in her cold exterior. Maybe, he could get through to her, draw her back to him from whatever darkness her mind dwelled in. "Mayhaps you're right." He reached for her hand again. "You probably could make more sense out of the household accounts than I could."

Hazelyn gave him a cautious glance.

"Perhaps when I'm working in my solar, you could join me, or if I'm occupied, Myna can accompany you."

He could see her frown deepen in displeasure, but she didn't reject him, so he held out hope. "I think, I would like that," she murmured softly.

His mouth curved up as he felt her fingers weave into his. "We could work together tomorrow, and then after..." He paused, swallowing back the hard lump forming in his throat. "We could go down to the crypts to see him." He glanced down at their interlocked hands.

His heart dropped when Hazelyn suddenly withdrew her hand from his. Her body seemed to recoil from him. "I don't think I'd be able to make the journey down to the crypts."

Robb raised a brow at her. "And yet you felt you could make it up to my mother's solar today." When Hazelyn simply pressed her lips together and looked away, his frustration flared. "It's been weeks since he was buried, and you haven't been to see him once."

Hazelyn cast him a cold glare as she crossed her arms. "What is there to see Robb? A cold stone tomb? It's done and over with. We have no child, and it's time to move on."

Robb was gobsmacked, a wave of insurmountable hurt constricting his chest. It might have hurt less if she'd stabbed him instead. He stared at her wide eyed before his temper flared up . "How can you say that? You can't pretend he never existed Hazelyn! We had a child. He died, but he still is our son!"

Hazelyn went perfectly still, her face falling into a vacant mask. For a long moment they stared at each, and then Hazelyn turned away from him. "I'm tried," she whispered as she leaned down to undo her boots.

Robb knew he'd gone too far. "Hazel-"

"I'm going to sleep." Her voice remained flat as she kicked off her shoes and drew her feet up on the bed. She turned onto her side away from him, not even bothering to pull down the furs.

Robb placed a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

"Leave." She refused to look at him. Sighing in defeat, Robb ran a hand through his hair and got up, his chest heavy as he walked out the door. He spent the rest of the day in the tiltyard, trying to keep busy, and drank more than he should with Theon that evening, but he couldn't forget his words, her utter lack of feeling.

When he finally brought himself to return to their bed that night, she was tucked under the covers but still facing away from him. He wondered, drunkenly, if she'd ever moved at all, if she was as still as ice. It would be fitting, he thought, still watching her.

He contemplated whether he should leave and sleep elsewhere after the words they'd exchanged. Despite his regret, he did still felt stung by her coldness, the utter disregard for the child that they'd created together, the one that would always be their first, despite the fact that he would never grow.

But, perhaps, this was only her grief. The distance, pretending their son was a fleeting memory, trying to throw herself into the duties of a lady. Perhaps it was her way, whereas others wept and screamed and asked the gods why they were cruel.

All day he'd thought of it, and all day he'd denied the idea. He'd told himself that her actions were cold and unnatural, no woman could ever be so unfeeling towards a child they'd lost. His mother was half mad over his brother, and Bran still lived. He could never have come to love Hazelyn if she had always truly been this way. She had laughed, and smiled, and she had made him warm, bringing him a happiness and contentness that he had never known before her. So, with this warm and happy Hazel in his mind, Robb began to hope and to forgive.

This was not truly Hazel, it was her grief. This was how she reacted in the face of a pain so unimaginable, so sudden.

His own father rarely talked about or even acknowledged the existence of his two dead siblings or father, and Robb never knew of a time he'd gone to visit their tombs, yet he knew his father was a man who loved his family above all else.

Robb wanted a torrential outpouring of grief, but maybe hers was quiet and deep like the deep ice of the Wall. Just because it seemed different, didn't mean she didn't need him, and he certainly needed her. Slipping beneath the covers, he scooted close to put a gentle hand on her arm. Despite her being asleep, he said, "I'm sorry for my words earlier. You're still our son's mother though, even if he's with the gods now. You always will be, and a wonderful one at that. I saw that with Rickon today, and I know it will be true with the children to come. Never forget that." He placed a kiss on her cheek and then rolled to other side of the bed.

When Robb woke the next morning, he felt Hazelyn's arm wrapped around him and her body nestled behind his much to his shock. He reached his hand to the back of his neck, feeling moisture against his fingertips. Tears? He shifted to face his wife, her arms winding around him tight as she hid her face against his neck. He brought his arms around her and pulled her closer without a word, not wanting to break the peaceful silence of the morning. After a few minutes though, a small whisper broke the quiet. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I want him back. I saw him in a dream. He had your eyes. He was beautiful. I want to remember him that way, not locked away in stone." Robb felt wetness gather against his skin that she nuzzled. He didn't say a word, just held her tighter and brushed his lips across her hair, beginning to understand and maybe even heal.

Almost a moon had passed since he had left. Just like maesters marked the passage of time by Aegon's arrival in Westeros, Myna now marked it by Jon's going. The bright new existence Winterfell had represented had faded. The mood around the keep felt somber, laughing and smiling almost irreligious after the misfortunes that had befallen the Stark family. Hazelyn seemed to be improving little by little each day now that she had tasks to occupy her mind, but Myna felt the same pervasive emptiness. Part of her thought to confide in her friend, but she did not want to shatter Hazelyn's delicate new peace with her troubles. She just wanted to feel alive again, so after Hazelyn had released her for the evening, she found herself wandering to Winter Town.

She came to the Smoking Log, the same tavern with the uptight innkeeper, bought an ale, and settled herself in the corner. The tavern hadn't changed much since the last time she'd been there, a warmly lit room with dark oak chairs and tables, smelling of charred wood and filled with the usual assortment of merchant, guards, and farm hands. It was a nice feeling to be somewhere a little familiar, but where no one knew her. Everything seemed so normal. She was just a woman here, sitting alone and sipping her drink, no duties or troubles. Here, she could pretend her heart was not in pieces and that whatever was left of it didn't still love the man who'd broken it.

Myna thought about striking up a conversation with one of the castle guards or man servants she recognized for some company, but dismissed the idea. Stealing kisses in the dark had lost it's appeal, now that she'd tasted love. None of those men would hold her the way Jon had, none would go as slow as he had, none of their words would compare to how treasured he'd made her feel. Better off alone, she thought despondently. However, much to her displeasure, one man had noticed her and had determined he would have her as a nightly companion, a body to warm his bed. Some pox ridden merchant, who was twice her age, sent her multiple drinks via the tavern wenches; she'd turned them away. He now had decided to invade her personal space and pestered her with promises of kisses and gentle hands. Too tired to even speak, she simply ignored him in the hopes he would find another conquest.

He did not. "Come now, luv, life is short. Yer could die tomorrow, or worse, be sold off as some pig farmer's wife and never know real pleasure-"

"Leave me alone!" Myna thundered. "What makes you think I want any part of you to touch me?!"

At once, his lined face twisted up in rage. "You ought to learn some respect, you little bitch." He opened his mouth to continue, but another voice spoke first.

"Been trying to do that since she came here. Haven't had much luck, I'm afraid." Theon Greyjoy slipped between the two, a smile still tugging at his mouth. "Run along, find someone who wants to be touched by the short twig you call a cock." The man must have recognized the highborn, because all he did was send a hot glare over at Myna, and then walk away.

"I was handling it," Myna mumbled, settling back in her chair once more and staring at her ale.

Theon scoffed, sitting down in the spare chair near her, much to her irritation. "You're nicer to look at without a swollen shut eye."

"Wouldn't have come to that. I'd have him on the floor by now, cupping his bruised cock."

Theon's lips pulled into a wolfish smile. "That would have been a sight. A beautiful little thing like you standing over a man." Myna took a drink. Theon was charming, she could admit it, but she knew very well where he desired his flirtations to go.

"I can still make that happen. Just stand up and come closer." His smile dimmed a little.

"You spent too much time with Jon Snow. I didn't think it was possible to find another so bloody grim."

Myna offered a dry smile, one so fragile it was hardly more than a quick twitch of her lips. She brought her cup back to her mouth for a drink, but a bubbling nausea in her belly made itself known the second the odor of the ale flittered into her nose. She gagged, but hoped it sounded more like a cough.

"What? Are you so terrified of being the next Jon Snow?" Theon laughed. "Or have you drunk too much?"

"Haven't drunk nearly enough," She replied.

"Come on then. Finish that one off, and I'll buy you another."

Myna's brows narrowed suspiciously. She'd never known the ironborn to be kind unless it served him. Or if he wanted a quick fondle in private. "What are you doing, Theon?"

The man sighed, looking rather irked at his offer being questioned. "You looked caught between weeping into your cup and throttling a drunkard when I found you. Think Hazelyn would thank me if I didn't look after her best friend?"

"So you want a thanks?" Myna narrowed her eyes.

"Might be nice." He waved a serving wench over. She kept quiet as he ordered an ale and a plate of meat pie for himself. When he returned his eyes to her, he inclined his head, a look of disbelief on his face. "Come on! I'm hardly the worst sort in here to keep company. At least now the mad dogs panting after you will think twice."

Myna considered him, wondering if this was some sort of ploy now that Jon had no claim on her, but he appeared genuine. She sighed, taking a swig from her drink though her stomach twisted in protest, and nodded.

They sat there without conversing, Theon devouring his pie and she finishing off her drink. It surprised Myna that the ironborn could go that long without flapping his lips, flirting with a woman or bragging about his charms. Once she emptied her cup, she pushed it away, disgusted by the smell for some reason. Before she could say anything Theon waved over a tavern maid.

"I'll have another ale." He smiled wide. Myna frowned as Theon dropped some coins into the maid's hand. "Thank you, beautiful." The girl scurried away giggling.

Myna rolled her eyes. "Do you ever stop?" She thought of calling him a whore, but she did not know how he would react.

Theon raised a brow. "Having fun? Not if I can help it. And it never hurts to lay down the ground work, even if you're not going to bed them that night."

Myna snorted, crossing her arms. Theon smirked at her. "Snow really was a bad influence on you. You used to have a sense of humor and wit if I recall. Did he steal that away from you?"

Jon had stolen many things from Myna, but her wits wasn't one of them. She barked out a dry laugh. "No. I just don't fall victim to those tired tricks of yours."

"Perhaps I should learn new ones then." Theon leaned back his chair, tapping his chin while chuckling.

Myna shook her head. "Not likely." Though her lip curled up a little.

The tavern girl returned more ale. After Theon sent the silly goose off giggling again, he picked up his drink and took a sip. "Well, my offer still stands if you ever change your mind." He shrugged as he slid her ale to her .

"Again, not likely." Myna grabbed her cup and raised it to her lips to hide her growing smile.

"What about archery-"

His question was cut short when Myna wretched. The second her tongue tasted the ale, her stomach turned in on itself. She bent over, clutching her abdomen as all the ale she'd drank came out, mixed with bile. It splattered on the floor next to her, and she was thankful that was all that came up. Anything more, every patron would have been staring at her. Instead, it was only Theon.

"How much have you had tonight?"

"Piss off," she retorted, her voice raspy and throat raw.

Theon let out a long suffering sigh and shook is head. "I guess I'll have to get you back to the keep."

Myna sat back up, glaring at him. "I'm not drunk, and I don't need your help!"

Theon laughed. "I've been piss drunk enough times to see it in others. And little Lady Stark would have my balls if I left and something happened to you. I'd rather keep them."

Theon ignored her protests and insults, waving over a wench to settle his tab and clean the mess, then he dragged her out of the tavern to his horse.

"I'm not getting on that thing." She eyed the grey gelding warily. Myna feared that the motion of the moving horse would make more bile bubble up.

"We'll I'm not walking back or leaving you here. So you can climb on or I'll treat like a sack of potatoes." Theon smiled but his tone was serious.

After quickly weighing the two options, Myna begrudgingly got up into the saddle with Theon's help. The ride back to the castle was short, though she had to swallow back her sick a few times. What was wrong with her? She had only had one ale, and her head wasn't fuzzy. She could normally drink full grown men under the table.

Theon went as far as to see her back to her chamber, surprising her again. "Thank you," she huffed, trying to sound grateful despite her churning stomach.

Theon waved her off. "I would rather your pretty face not get fucked up by bandits and mine not mauled by she-wolves."

"Still not going to fall for it."

"Ground work." Theon grinned and gave her one last wink before he turned and swaggered off. Theon was still ever the cocky squid, but perhaps there was more to him than she'd thought.

Sighing, Myna shut her door and looked around her dark room. Her stomach had settled, but now she felt exhausted. She went about starting a fire in her small hearth and then rinsed her mouth out with some water from her pitcher before changing and going to bed.

The fire flickered in the hearth, warm and comforting. She watched the flames die down as the hours passed, eventually submerging her in darkness. Sleep avoided her all night, teasing her. Yet, she could not find it, her mind too clouded. Why couldn't she hold her drink anymore? Because despite what Theon claimed, she hadn't gotten drunk off of one bloody drink. Jon hadn't softened her up that much. She snorted. She had been having stomach pains as of late though. Perhaps she was coming down with something. That would make sense. She'd been getting cramps too, worse than the ones she had during monthlies. She frowned as she tried to recall her last one. She'd been so distracted, she'd lost track. Her last one had been before she and Jon had... Her eyes widened.

Myna shifted onto her back, starting up at the stone ceiling. Jon had left her, not entirely of his own accord, but he wasn't ever coming back. That couldn't be a possibility. He couldn't be right. She traced over the rough cotton of her night gown until her fingers brushed over her stomach. She prayed to the gods that part of Jon hadn't stayed with her, ingrained into her heart, imprinted upon her body. The rest of the night she was mired in worry, thoughts switching between a small child with black hair and Jon's face, sad and disappointed. He had been the first man to ever have access to the secret and tender part of her heart, and try as she might, she could not be rid of him. No matter how he had ruined her.

Catelyn just stared at her baby boy's peaceful little face, the gentle light of the fire flickering over his soft features, and she could almost imagine that he had just dozed off. The horrible reality that he had been trapped in a deep slumber for over a moon, broken beyond repair, was a pain she did not know if she could bare. In the dim and shadow of evening you couldn't tell, but in the light of day, he still looked as pale as death. Luwin had assured her that the most dangerous time was past, that Bran would live and his legs would heal straight at least, but he'd never use them. He'd never walk again. Never chase his siblings again, never climb those horrible towers again, giving her that mischievous little smile when she told him not to do it. If only he had listened. If only she'd taken him by the hand and kept him close. If only she'd not indulged him so, but yelled at him and made him cry and run to his room.

The creaking of the chamber door broke her from her trance. She looked over her shoulder to see Luwin standing in the doorway, gray and silent as a specter. She turned away, focusing on the forgotten knitting in her hands so she she did not have endure yet another of the maester's pitying stares. If her boy was really going to live, why did he look at her with such grief and pity, unless his assurances were all empty and false? She heard him close the door and walk into room. She glanced up when he stopped by Bran's bed, watching as he placed his old and wrinkled hand on the boy's forehead and looked over him. When his eyes returned to hers, she looked down again, beginning to knit with trembling fingers. Anything to keep her attention off what he was about to say.

"My lady, it's been a while since you reviewed the accounts."

Catelyn didn't even grace him with a glance. "Poole or Hazelyn can see to them."

There was a beat of silence before Luwin replied in a gentle voice. "Poole went south with Lord Stark, my lady, and Lady Hazelyn is still recovering from her miscarriage. It's best not to lay too much burden on her right away." Catelyn stopped attempting to knit and glared up at Luwin as he continued. "We also have a few household positions that need to be appointed. I've made a list of candidates if you would-"

"I do not care about candidates or appointments! My only concern is Bran, so do not bother me other things!" She snapped.

"My lady-"

"I'll make the appointments." A soft voice called. Catelyn turned with the maester to see her son and his wife entering the room. Her eyes lingered on her good daughter, taking in her pale skin and the faint circles beneath her eyes.

"You can give us the lists in the morning, and we'll see to it." Robb nodded at Luwin.

"Very good my lord. My lady." He bowed slightly to the young couple and took his leave to give the family privacy.

Catelyn focused on her knitting, fumbling with the needles and wool. She'd had enough argument and intrusion for one night. She just wanted to be left to tend to Bran.

Her head snapped up when Bran's bed creaked. Hazelyn sat on the side of the bed and stroked his cheek gently. "How is Bran, Catelyn?" She scowled, about reprimand the girl for asking such a ridiculous question, but stopped herself. Hazelyn had concern and compassion in her grey eyes, but they were sunken, her cheekbones jutting out sharply under taut, pallid skin. They were hollowed women, the two of them. Their spirit drained by loss and pain

Catelyn swallowed and then replied. "The same. He hasn't changed at all."

"I'm sorry." Hazelyn pursed her lips. "You must be exhausted. Maybe I can sit and watch over Bran awhile so you can eat and rest."

Catelyn narrowed her eyes, suspicious and shaking her head. "I can't leave him. I'm his mother."

"Mother, when was the last time you left this room?" Catelyn saw her eldest son standing by the window, his brow furrowed and arms crossed.

Catelyn couldn't remember; the days had run together since her Bran's fall, but feeling defensive of her son's challenging stare, she raised her chin and didn't answer.

Robb sighed, turning around and pushing open the widow's wooden shutters. A rush of cold night air flooded into the chamber, the howling of wolves floating in through the dark.

"Close that now!" She snapped, hugging herself against the cold draft.

"The room was getting stale. It will do Bran good to feel some fresh air and hear the wolves."

"He'll catch cold!" Catelyn fretted over Bran, pulling his covers up to his chin.

"Mother!" The harshness and exasperation in Robb's tone gave Catelyn pause. "Bran is not going to die!" Robb growled. "Luwin says he's made it through and he'll wake. You have other things to tend to."

"What else could possibly be more important than Bran!? I'm his mo-"

"You're Rickon's mother too!" Robb's cheeks flushed as they always did when his temper flared, but his voice rang of desperation. "He's only six and has no idea what's going on! He throws tantrums everyday and is near inconsolable every night because he doesn't understand about Bran and misses you. Hazelyn and I try, but it's not enough! He needs you! Our family needs you! I won't let you waste away!" His shout echoed off the stone even after he stopped speaking, then silence, direwolves still howling somewhere in the distant darkness, a lament for all lost.

His tirade made Catelyn really look at her eldest son for the first time since Bran's fall. His eyes weren't angry, but fearful and wary, framed by dark circles, just like his wife. His body was wound with tension and his ruffled hair and rumpled clothes showed how unkempt he was. He was exhausted. Catelyn shifted her gaze between him and his wife. They both were. They would be running the keep, the whole North really, since Ned had left and she was indisposed. They'd also been tending to Rickon. Her baby. How could she have forgotten her youngest?

Her eyes shifted back, and took in Hazelyn's form, lingering on her flattened midsection. They had lost their child, her only grandchild. They must have carried the same grief she felt in the midst of all of this. Yet both of them, children, had been stronger than her. She had failed them, failed her two other sons, her family.

She opened her mouth to beg forgiveness, but Robb turned away from her, distracted by dogs barking, shouting, and then the castle bells. The direwolves had gone silent through. He tensed even more as he looked out the window. They could all hear the crackle as the smell of burning wood wafted through the window.

"Fire." Robb turned, his face hard, betraying no weakness. He was truly Ned's son in that moment. He was neither a Tully or a warm blooded southerner, only a Stark. "Both of you stay here," he commanded his wife and mother before charging out the door. "I'll come back once it's out."

"Wait!" Alarmed, Catelyn shot up from her chair and then looked to her good daughter when she realized her son was gone. "You need to help me move Bran!" She commanded with a strength she didn't know she still possessed.

The cool look on her good daughter's face might have unnerved Catelyn if her heart was not beating wildly in her breast. Instead of helping, Hazelyn silently stepped towards the open window. "It's the library tower," she said as she peered out. "We're fine."

Relief washing over Catelyn, she clutched her chest. She said nothing, moving to stand beside her good daughter. Across Winterfell, she could see the orange flames licking up towards the sky, the smoke and burned debris flying through the air like snow in a winter storm. She had meant to close the window at once, to shield them from the chaos, but she was captivated in the strangest way by the scene.

Another few short moments of watching, Catelyn finally reached over and shut the window. It was quieter then, and so the two women nearly jumped when the voice of a stranger rose from the dark doorway.

"You wasn sup'posta be here," he murmured. He was common born, no doubt, but his hood hid most of his features. But when he took the long knife from his belt, what his face looked like was of little matter. "No one sup'posta be here."

"Get out. Get out and we will forget we've seen your face." Hazelyn's voice was strong, a pleading edge beneath cold steel.

The dark head inclined towards the boy in the bed. "'Sa mercy, really. He's dead already."

"No!" Catelyn didn't even think as she threw herself at the man, her hands out stretched to shield her son and to snatch away the man's weapon. He was ready for her though, shoving her roughly to the side. Losing her balance, she fell on the bed, the breathe knocked out her. She cried out in pain when her hair was tugged back sharply. The man yanked her up, his rank breathe filling his nostrils as he brought his knife to her throat. The knife meant to kill her little boy. She seized the blade with both hands, heaving with all her might to pry the weapon from her attacker. He grunted, trying to pull the knife back and stop her struggling. She fought against him with everything in her, refusing to let go of the blade even as it cut deep into hands and grew slick with blood. Her singular thought was to get the knife away from the man, to protect her child.

The man suddenly loosened his vice like grip on her and howled in pain. Confusion struck her, for a brief moment, but her mind couldn't keep up with her body. At once, Catelyn twisted out of his grasp with a grunt, her wet hands slipping from the knife in the process. Breathless from their struggle, she whirled around to face her foe, ready to pounce, but she was met with a horrifying scene.

Her son's assassin was facing her good daughter, the blade wet with Catelyn's blood slashing downward at the younger woman.

Hazelyn jerked away, but the blade must have met it's mark because she cried out. Catelyn charged again. She seized the man's arm as he raised his weapon strike again, her bloody hands struggling to get his knife. Hazelyn screeched as she ran at the man, a flash of sliver in her hand that slammed against the man's neck. His own scream of pain was choked by blood, the red horror spurting forth, running like a river down his chest the moment Hazelyn withdrew her blade. It was smaller, but it cut as well as a greatsword.

He acted before the girl could collect her wits, and shoved Hazelyn with a great sweep of his arm, sending her into the stone wall. Catelyn grabbed his forearm and pulled him back, holding tight as he tried to buck her off. With all the strength she had in her body, Catelyn did her best to snap his arm back so she could grab the knife. She hadn't counted on his free hand leaving the wound on his neck and reaching for her hair. She hardly felt the pain when his nails dug into her skin, his bloody hand fumbling for purchase as he ripped a handful out. This man would not kill her boy.

Hazelyn pushed herself up from the wall, and with another shriek, tackled the would be murderer, plunging her knife into the man's exposed stomach. Catelyn squeezed her eyes shut and pulled his arm with all her strength as he let out a raspy shout. She cried out in victory when his fingers slacked and his knife fell from his grasp. She released him and dove for his blade as his shout came out in a breathy gurgle. She clutched the knife with slippery fingers, pushing herself to her knees to finish the man, but he was already stumbling backward on to the floor, Hazelyn on top of him.

For a long moment, Catelyn stared. The girl screaming like a shadow cat, her small knife flashed in the fire light as she stabbed the man over and over again. Relief washed over Catelyn as the man's gurgling screams turned agonized whimpers and struggles to throw his attacker off faded into twitching. Red pooled out onto the stone and squelching noises filled the room, punctuated by Hazelyn's screams. Each time the knife came down was accompanied by a short shriek. Catelyn couldn't move, from shocks or relief she didn't know. She didn't even flinch as Bran's snarling brown direwolf charged into the room, pouncing onto the possibly already dead man, and brought a definitive end to him by ripping his throat out with one bite.

Her hands shook as she watched with a sick fascination as the direwolf then hopped up on the bed and laid down next to Bran, licking its bloody maw, while the girl her son had married continued to stab, stab, stab, a steady cadence of squishing and shrieking. All that mattered was that her baby boy was safe. Catelyn laughed. Her boy was still alive and safe, sleeping in bed with nigh a hair out of place.

That was how the men found them when they burst through the door, Robb with his direwolf, Luwin, Roderick, and half the castle guard. She still chuckled as Robb gave out frantic commands, as she was bundled up in blankets and ushered from the room.

"No! No! He's not dead yet! " Hazelyn's screams echoed out into the corridor as Robb and a few guards tried to pull her from the corpse of the assassin, or what was left of him. Catelyn laughed harder. The gods were truly just. That evil man was dead and her precious boy was safe.

Fun place to end it, right? More is coming your way, much sooner than you think, so keep an eye out! I really hope you liked this update and thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a review to share your opinions and thoughts. They always help me a great deal, and I'm gonna be pushing to update in the next few weeks of quarantine, so feedback is valuable now more than ever. Next Chapter: Mysteries of daggers and dream continue to haunt Winterfell, little lions and whores make a return.