Her nostrils flared, her chin beginning to tremble again. "Broden is still down there. Or worse..."
   Feeling as though I had failed her somehow, I simply held her once more, petting her hair until she eventually fell into a much needed sleep. 

—

   Over the coming days, lords from the far reaches of the north all gathered at Winterfell as Robb's raven found them and the war became more reality than idea. They came quickly, bringing with them their men eager to answer their call to the Stark. The great hall was lively once again, but my wife was not. 
   She cared not for spending much time with us, not even with Rickon or Luwin as she so often did. She spent most of her days hiding away from the bustle of the guests we were hosting. She'd stay in the gardens for hours at a time when she wasn't on her knees in the Godswood. When she found herself in my bed each evening, depleted still as though she'd spent the whole day doing severe labor, I began to notice her fingers were forming callouses. From the tools in the glass gardens, I suspected. I didn't try to reroute her habits, though, as they seemed to bring her comfort. Instead, I tried my best to care for her in what ways I could. With the looming threat of war hanging over us, I savored each moment she'd allow me. Elongated each kiss, traced each of her fingers as I held her hand under the table at dinner. I tried to memorize everything about her, every quirk and imperfection. Though, I admittedly came up short on the latter. 
   She'd written her brother back home with no response. She'd even written Broden, though I recommended against sending anything more to the capital. Still, no word from either as the days passed further. 
   We sat in the chatter filled hall underneath the banners of every visiting house, listening as Greatjon Umber ranted at Robb as he shoveled back his dinner. 
   "For thirty years, I've been making corpses out of men, boy. I'm the man you want leading the vanguard," Lord Umber roared from the far end of the table. 
   "Gallbart Glover will lead the van."
   "The bloody Wall with melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover. I will lead the van, or I will take my men and march them home."
   He was an insolent, aging Lord who was seemingly unwilling to follow Robb's orders because of his age. 
   "You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber," Robb started, rising from his seat and looking as though he might fight Lord Umber right at the dining table. "And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker."
   Everyone at the table grew quieter, ready to jump in at a moment's notice, it seemed. Everyone aside from Massey, who sat whipping her head between the two men. 
   "Oathbreaker, is it?" Umber shouted as he too sprung from his chair. Chairs across the hall raked backward and let out a choir  of loud scratches as they did. "I'll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass!"
   As I anticipated, he reached for his blade. I bolted up, but not quickly enough to be the first one to Robb's defense. Impossibly quickly, Grey Wind leapt onto the table and made for Umber. Lord Umber screamed at the wolf pounced and bit down on his arm. Perhaps his hand, it happened too fast to tell. All of the men around the room were less inclined to intervene now, not having planned on fighting a direwolf as opposed to a man. 
   What I didn't expect, was that Robb allowed it to happen. I'd expected he'd call Grey Wind back immediately, but he didn't. I was glad to see it. Grey Wind retreated on his own, though, as Lord Umber writhed in pain on the floor. I noticed then that Massey was holding tightly to Bran's shoulder, ready to protect him if she needed to. Still, she didn't shield him from what was unfolding. I was glad to see that, too. He needed to know of things like this if he was going to be Lord of Winterfell in our absence. 
   "My Lord Father taught me it was death to bare steel against your liege-lord," Robb announced as Lord Umber unsteadily brought himself to his feet. "But doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me."
   "Your meat—" he barked back, holding up a hand that was now missing two fingers and kicking his chair aside, "is bloody tough."
   There was a final tense moment before Lord Umber started to erupt in laughter. The rest of us joined in, Robb included as I rested my weapon once more. The rest of dinner went off without a hitch, as most of us were far more comfortable after the first blood was spilled. They spoke briefly of the plan, which I knew was to leave in the night tomorrow evening. Massey knew it, too, and neither of us were happy about it. When dinner was through and we were back in our chambers, she'd even gone as far as to contemplate coming along, just so she wouldn't be apart from me. 
   "I don't think that would be wise," I told her gently as I stood behind her, unlacing her bodice. 
   "Why not? Maester Luwin's taught me a great deal about how to tend to injuries. Maybe I'd be of some help."
   "We have healers for that," I answered with the same gentle tone. Again, I knew the panic of being without me and without her family was only causing her to flail for something to hang onto in the chaos. "You made a promise to Lady Stark, yes? To watch over the boys? You must keep that promise. Bran will need all the help he can get."
   "He has Luwin and all of the others-"
   "All of the help he can get. He's ten. If you're not going home, you're needed here."
   "Gareth has not written back. And, even if he had, I don't think I'd go home to him. I don't think it's even my home anymore. I just want to be wherever you are."
   I thought then of my own changing definition of home. I'd spent the last ten years biding my time here until I could return home and take my place as my father's heir. And still, though I felt the same familiar pull to Pyke, I found myself almost eager to defend the Starks. Robb was my brother. Lord Stark was...Lord Stark. I had to fight for them. I wanted to fight for them. 
   My heart broke to look upon her so desperate, so displaced. It was evident in even the way she stood. I did not let her see how sad I felt, though. I spoke with a strong conviction, promising only what I knew that I could. "Well, I will be back here before you know it. I'll come back for you, I swear it."
   She nodded, and I leaned down and brushed a soft kiss to her shoulder, repeating myself gently. 
   "I swear it."
   She turned to face me, bringing one hand up to my cheek and nodding as though to communicate how she felt. I understood the look in her eyes, bringing my hand to her's and placing another soft kiss on her palm. For the first time since we'd received that horrible letter, she leaned into me. The kisses we shared as we found our bed were tender, meaningful. So was every touch we laid on each other's bodies and every breath that left our mouths. Her gown came off and my clothes soon followed. She lifted herself to straddle my lap, looking all the more perfect as she moved against me. 
   For the first time, I understood an old saying. Love is the death of duty. I had always thought it was a foolish saying for men who sought out a way to escape their fate, but as I looked up to my wife, beautiful and bare in every sense of the word, I understood it. Even for just a moment, I thought to hide away from the northerners come tomorrow evening. To dare anyone to force me to leave her side. I was her protector, her last protector, and I had to leave her to fight someone else's war. 
   My war, too, I tried to remind myself. 
   I buried the complex thoughts as I buried my fingers into her hips, trying my best to focus on the here and now. She smiled sweetly as she bent to bring her lips to mine, like she had no other care in the world aside from me. 
   If I didn't come back from the war, at least we'd have this night.