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The Bonnaire family stood in a line outside the castle, helping Giselle load up her things onto Kahlua's back.
"I wish you didn't have to go," Mary whined. Giselle knelt in front of her, holding onto her arms.
"I'll be home before you know it. Once the war is over, I'll be back here. Maybe father will send us off to marry into the same family and we can be together for the rest of our lives. Maybe we'll go somewhere beautiful and marry a set of handsome brothers who will treat us well and we can raise our sons together," Giselle proposed. Mary smiled giddily, obviously fond of the thought.
"Or maybe he'll convince Tywin Lannister to get his son to leave the Kingsguard and you can marry the Kingslayer," Jeremy teased, stepping forward to say goodbye to his sister. Giselle reached out to tickle the toddler in his arms, making the little boy giggle happily.
"Considering the rumors going around, I don't think I'm his type," Giselle giggled.
"What's his type?" Mary asked naively.
"Other Lannisters," Allister interjected, chuckling to himself as Mary's face became confused and horrified.
"Hush now, children. Your sister will marry a handsome lord who will value her over politics and that's that," her mother scoffed, pulling her eldest daughter into a tight hug.
"Thank you, mother," Giselle said softly, offering a small smile.
"Thank you for everything, father," Giselle sighed gratefully, hugging her father one more time before climbing onto her horse.
"Ned Stark was my friend. He will be avenged," her father swore. Giselle nodded silently, galloping off through the gates of Oakfort. She knew she would come back to Ashdown soon, but in a way, she wished she were leaving forever like she did the last time she left.
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Riding into Winterfell didn't feel as it once had. She thought back to the first time she ever rode through those stone gates. Arya had tried to jump out of a tree and frighten her off of her horse, almost succeeding. Sansa had tried to hide her excitement of finally having a sister to do ladylike things with. Jon had hidden in the stables, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, nor wanting to have the first person she met be the bastard of Winterfell. Robb watched secretly from the window, anxious to see what his future wife looked like.
Now, she rode through the gates and Arya did not jump from the trees. Sansa didn't tremble with excitement. Jon didn't hide. And Robb certainly was not spying on her from the tower. Not a soul was there to greet her. Winterfell died with its leader.
She didn't even bother to tie Kahlua up in the stables. She just ran inside the castle, screaming for Rickon and Bran.
"Lady Bonnaire, Lord Bran doesn't wish to have visitors," his guard informed her as she walked up to his door.
"Well, then that's just too bad for him, isn't it?" Giselle huffed, pushing past the guard and barging into the room. Bran lay silently in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His grief was too much for him to bear. He didn't even acknowledge her presence in the room. He just wanted to be alone.
"You might want to invest in new guards, my lord. They are easily overpowered by women with weak arms," Giselle sighed lightly, sitting down in the chair next to his bed. Summer, Bran's dire wolf, moved to lay at her feet.
"My father's dead," Bran said simply.
"I'm so sorry, Bran," Giselle whispered, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
"Condolences won't bring my father back to life. They won't reattach his head," Bran spat.
"No, they won't. But that doesn't mean I won't offer them," Giselle agreed.
"You went to see my brother?" Bran asked.
"For a short while. I actually went to Ashdown to speak to my father," Giselle explained.
"So you've heard what my brother has done?" Bran asked coldly. Giselle nodded silently. She was done speaking about Robb Stark and she was done speaking about how she felt.
"You should've stayed in Ashdown," Bran huffed.
"No, I shouldn't've. You're the lord of Winterfell. Every great leader needs help," Giselle sighed, standing up and walking out of his bedroom without another word.
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When she finally got to Rickon's bedroom, it was empty. His bed was untouched, his drapes open. Not even Shaggydog, his dire wolf, was in sight. The only sign of life in the room was a muffled sobbing sound coming from the wardrobe. She found the young boy in the back corner of the cramped dresser, sobbing into his cloaks.
"Is there room for one more?" Giselle asked, climbing into the dark space next to the boy. There was barely any space to move or breathe, but she shoved herself in there anyway. She wrapped her arms around the child, pulling him tightly into her side. She rocked him gently, humming the lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was about his age as he sobbed into her hair.
"Everything's going to be all right, someday, Rickon. Your brother will make this right," Giselle whispered as the child cried himself into a deep sleep. She sat there in the darkness of the closet with him all night, holding him as he slept, praying that this was all a warped dream.
She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She prayed that when she woke up she would still be sitting next to Robb in the hallway, listening to him snore quietly. She prayed that when she woke up the war would be nonexistent. She prayed that when she woke up, the Stark family would all be in Winterfell, laughing in the great hall. But, alas.
