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Death.

The smell of death would forever be stuck in her nostrils, Aneira was sure if it. No matter how many times throughout the day she scrubbed her fingernails, it was like the blood stained through to her nail beds and the skin surrounding. She had stopped training, much to her dismay of course. There was no time.

The moments she got alone where the only moments she had to clean herself and eat. Her mind was at war with itself, constantly worrying with what was happening at the wall, at Winterfell, at Deepwood Motte, even at King's Landing. She wondered what was happening to Sansa, whether she was safe, if she had someone looking after her in the red keep, after all she was surrounded by lions, spiders, and snakes.

She had placed distance between herself and Robb. It was nothing he had done or said to her, but he was on a vengeful war path after his mother, Lady Catelyn, had released the Kingslayer. Aneira did not agree with Lady Stark's decision, of course, but she also did not appreciate the tension between mother and son and wanted no parts in being in the middle of it. It was bad enough that she was here, tending to the wounded men of the North, instead of living out a peaceful life behind the protective walls of her home. Whether that home be in Winterfell or Deepwood Motte, or even behind the walls of another great noble Northern house with whoever might have been her Lord Husband.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she laid still in her cot, the furs tucked up beneath her chin as her mind began to wander off. Thoughts of Jon Snow, no doubt. His laugh and smile, the way his dark hair curled just right to frame his face. She wondered, wherever he was right now, if he was thinking of her. Her hands were tucked beneath the furs, resting flat against her stomach as she steadied her breaths. Just the thought alone of him got her worked up. Sometimes it was a good thing, other things it wasn't. Tonight, unfortunately, was the latter. Her eyes were filling with tears, the grief of her old life washing over her quickly.

Luwin. Bran. Rickon. Rodrik.

Dead.

All of them were dead. She hated this sinking feeling, the feeling that maybe if she had never left Winterfell that she could have protected the boys from Theon. She wasn't sure at what point the tears had begun streaming down her cheeks, but the sobs must have followed soon after as she felt the pain in her chest radiating throughout her entire body.

"Annie!"

Her sobs must have been loud enough to alert the guards that stood watch nearby because she was pulled from her misery at a pair of rough hands wrapping around her biceps and shaking her. Robb was kneeling beside her, one hand firmly planting against the side of her face as he tilted her face towards him.

"Aneira. Please. Tell me what is wrong. Tell me what plagues you."

Though the tears blurred her vision, Aneira knew she was staring up at Robb. She could barely hear him speaking to her as her sobs echoed in her ears. Aneira allowed for her eyes to fall shut, squeezing out more salty tears as she pressed her cheek further into Robb's hand.

"It's all my fault, Robb. I-" Aneira stopped and pulled herself from his touch. "I should have stayed in Winterfell. Maybe if I had stayed I could have protected Bran and Rickon."

"This is not on you, Aneira. This...everything that's happening at Winterfell and Deepwood Motte is on Theon. On his bloody fucking family." Robb reached forward and again took Aneira's hands in his. He held onto her tightly and watched her tears begin to dry.

"What are we going to do, Your Grace?"

Robb smiled softly and allowed for her to lean in against his side for comfort. His hands stayed in hers and he worked his brain for an answer. Truthfully, he was not sure of what they were going to do next. All of his advisors were adamant about moving forward against Lannister forces but deep in the confines of his own mind, of his heart, he wanted to head back further North. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to take back Winterfell and Deepwood Motte and he wanted to get revenge for everyone he had lost. Aneira felt the same way, Robb could sense it in her touch. He could see it in her eyes, the hardened stare and darkness that swirled within.

But...

Regardless of what he really wanted, Robb knew they couldn't. And he knew that he had to marry the Frey girl. The warmth provided by Aneira laying her head against his chest stirred something inside of him that he had never felt before -  not for Aneira, atleast. He had removed one of his hands from hers and wrapped his arm around her, holding her close against his side.

He had opened his mouth to finally speak when the flap of Aneira's tent flipped open and his mother and Lord Glover rushed in.

"What is the meaning of this?" Galbart stared at the young couple with a hard stare while Catelyn had a softer gaze upon her face. The Stark matriarch could sense the sadness surrounding Aneira, she had felt it too of course.

"Lord Glover-"

"It is not what it looks like." Aneira pulled herself  from Robb's comforting hold and let out an exasperated sigh. She understood her Uncle as a caring man, but sometimes he allowed himself to get way over his own head with certain things. Her hands gently dabbed at her cheeks, clearing her delicate skin of the salty trail of tears. "Robb was only comforting me. As a friend."

"He is your King, not your friend. You are both unmarried. He is promised to the daughter of Walder Frey, do you understand what it could do if the wrong person walked in on you two alone in such a compromising position?" Galbart was flustered. He knew Robb was not a scoundrel of a man - it was understood that he had loyalty as his father did - but the eldest Glover remembers quite quickly where Ned's loyalty landed him.

It had brought him into the bed of another woman, to whom bore him a bastard son. He would rather be dead than have his niece make a mistake as large as that one. She had no mother, nor father, to protect her. It was his job now with Ned being dead and long gone. Aneira's father, well, that man would be stupid to step foot in the North again.

"Lord Glover, lower your voice." Catelyn pleaded in a hushed whisper. Her hand gently rested on his elbow for a moment before she stepped over to her son. "Robb understands and I can assure you that Aneira will remained protected by our family. I can assure you that there has been nothing happening with them that is untoward to an unmarried woman of Aneira's standing."

Aneira bowed her head, her hands fidgeting with the frayed strings of her thick sleeping gown as she avoided her uncles stare. She knew his concerns were not just for her, but for everyone involved. Everyone loyal to Robb's cause. One wrong move could change the course the North was on to defeat the Lannisters. Even one as small as a broken marriage pact between the King in the North and Walder Frey.

Aneira caught Robb's gaze as he left her tent, quickly followed by his mother, leaving her along with her uncle. She let out another deep sigh and sat back down on the edge of her cot. She watched her uncle stroll over and take a seat beside her.

"I only want to protect you. I understand that you and Robb have grown up with one another, that you have a bond nobody can break but you must do me this one thing." Galbart kissed his nieces temple, offering her a nod, "you must keep your feelings under lock and key. Stored in the very depths of your mind. Promise me."

Aneira nodded slowly. "I promise."

"One day this war will be behind us. One day you will have a family of your own." Galbart stood up and left Aneira to her thoughts.

The stubborn man, who was usually attentive to his surroundings, missed the figure standing off to his left - someone who had overheard every word spoken between the group.

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Each passing day the pain of the innocent lives of Bran and Rickon lost in the war lessened - atleast that was what Aneira would say if you asked her that. She busied herself with taking care of the wounded, sharpening her skills in the medical field. Lately her hands remained stained with the blood of all of those she helped. She scrubbed her skin raw whenever she was able to, which definitely did not help any.

Since that moment in her tent, Aneira had spent limited alone time with Robb. It was slow at first but her uncle eventually loosened his protective grasp on her and allowed for them to begin breaking fast and supping together once more.

"It fucking hurts!"

Currently, the man beneath her grasp was a man of House Bolton. His green eyes were squeezed shut as his head pressed down into the earth beneath them. Aneira was squeezing his arm, ensuring that her grasp was high enough above his wound as another nurse tied a torn cloth just below her grasp.

"You screaming isn't going to make the pain go away." Aneira grunted, turning herself around pressing all of her body weight into the man's right side to keep him from thrashing around as the other healer began to see the massive wound shut.

"Hmpf-" the man grunted, a smirk slowly forming on his lips, "if all I needed to do was get wounded to have those delicious tits in my face, I would have done so sooner."

Aneira rolled her eyes at his vile comment. She sighed when she realized that the angle she was leaning in had given him the perfect view down the opening of her gown. There was no way around it now, so she prayed to the gods that Cressida worked faster than she normally did so she could get out of this compromising position.

"Harold, shut your trap." Roose Bolton snapped from above, his eyes trailing down to watch the wound get sewn up.

"Thank you, Lord Bolton." Aneira forced a smile as she glanced up at him.

"You'll have to forgive my man, Aneira. I hope that does not affect your loyalty to House Bolton, as we are ever loyal to you." Roose grinned. There was no light behind his eyes and the darkness that radiated from this man made her shutter. She had no loyalty to House Bolton but she knew when to bite her tongue. She looked back down at the man she knew was now named Harold and shook her head.

"Of course not, Lord Bolton." She spoke through gritted teeth as she pressed firmer down on Harold's collarbone, silently enjoying the shout of pain that left his lips. She kept her eyes on the ground, not wanting to meet Lord Bolton's gaze again. There was something sinister in his eyes, in the sound of his voice and that sent a chill down Aneira's spine.

Once Cressida was finished sewing the wound, Aneira wrapped it with the cleanest cloth she could find. "You'll do best not to tear the stitches and keep it as clean as you can." She spoke sternly and quickly gathered her things to rush off to the next man in need. Her mind swirled with thoughts of the end of war, of the things her uncle promised her.

If only she knew it would be much more further away than any of them could ever imagine.