Authors Note:

Based on the novel by George RR Martin, so obviously I don't own any of the GOT content/characters.

This is my first GOT fanfic, based on the events following Jon Snow's departure with Tormund for Hardhome to convince the Wildlings to settle south of the Wall (s5 ep7) – in my version, they refuse his offer, and Jon returns to Castle Black without a Wildling army by his side.

Like most stories, the first couple of chapters are a bit slow, in order to introduce Eilya (pronounced Ale-ya) and her brother and their background.

Rated M for some strong language and romantic/adult themes later on.

All comments welcome. Hope you enjoy :)

Clw-x

Chapter 1 – Hunger Games

Eilya

For miles and miles, all that could be seen was white. Like a blanket, strewn across the moors and the low-rise hills, it was as if the colour of the North had vanished, along with the trees and the ponds and the pretty birds that had sang so tunefully during the…

Summer was over. That bitter fact was becoming clearer every day.

But despite the cold, and the ice, and the flakes of snow that stung her crimson cheeks, at that moment Eilya Canann actually felt quite flushed - warm in fact! This was a feeling she could embrace, that she would like to have taken the time to enjoy. That was, if she hadn't been running as fast as her leather-clad coat and the three foot of snow would allow her!

Panting, she stopped. 'Dann, wait! Pl… please, can we… just wait!'

Dannard Canann, who had stopped a few feet away, turned to face her. He assessed the land around them, eyes wide, alert and breathing heavily, before nodding.

'I think we're safe now, anyway,' he sighed, re-tracing his steps back to his sister. As he reached her, they caught one another's eye, and began to laugh.

'That could've gone so wrong,' Eilya gasped, playfully punching her brother in the ribs.

'Hey, it worked, didn't it? I was thinking on my feet! At least we'll eat tonight!' Dannard grinned, revealing two loaves of bread and half of a ham, which were tucked away inside of his wool-lined coat.

'Pa will be proud,' Eilya grimaced, wiping wet snow from her pink face. 'His only son, stealing from the castle…'

'And his only daughter.' Dannard interjected. 'And it was from the castle's main butcher, not from the castle itself.'

'Not the point-'

'We've got food. Regardless of how we got it, I think Pa will eat it, don't you? At least we won't starve, like the…' Dannard's smile faded, and Eilya watched sadly as his gaze dropped to his snow-covered boots.

'Like the Marher's,' she finished quietly. They stood for a moment, the frozen, starving faces of their neighbours imprinted into both of their minds, before Dannard's voice broke the stony silence.

'Come on, before the snow gets worse. Keep close to me, and listen out for that bastard butcher!'

Dead Weather was a tiny village situated within a small ravine, six miles inland of the town and castle of Deepwood Motte. Made up of no more than seventy inhabitants, it had always been a poor village, dependant on the business from travellers, providing passers-by with food and shelter as they journeyed on the Kingsroad. No one knew why the village was called Dead Weather, which hadn't always been its official title, only that this name had been the one to stick.

But the fate of this tiny village had taken a turn for the worse. With winter coming, and the weather changing, and with the fall of Winterfell, there were less travellers passing on the Kingsroad. The smallfolk had turned to Deepwood Motte for help, but after Yara Greyjoy seized the castle, she closed the town's gates to outsiders, convincing her townsfolk that they would not survive the winter if more villagers entered and used up their dwindling food supplies.

And so the smallfolk returned to Dead Weather, empty handed. Illness and starvation broke out, affecting individuals, then families, and then nearly two thirds of the village. Numbers began to diminish. Now only a few were left. Those remaining included Eilya, Dannard and their father, Rodrick Canann, who was waiting anxiously for his children's return.

They opened the door to their small house, just as night was beginning to fall. Rodrick jumped up from the wooden table and threw his arms around his children's shoulders.

'I was so worried about you both,' he cried, his voice muffled against Eilya's damp, messy mane of hair. Eilya hugged him back, but swallowed uneasily as she felt his bony shoulders through his thin jumper. Her father was becoming skinnier by the day. Rodrick let go of them, and looked between them slowly. 'Did you manage to… to get…' He trailed off. Dannard quickly pulled out the ham and loaves of bread and held them out to their father. Rodrick's eyes widened and his tired face broke into a toothy smile. 'How did you…? This is amazing, well done both of you!' He took the food and placed them on the table, side by side, as though they were precious metals or rare stones. 'This is amazing. Perhaps the Motte will let us pass, now that there are less of us… we will all find safety for the winter, we will all be saved…'

Eilya shifted uneasily on her feet, as Dannard cleared his throat. 'Er, Pa? We got into the castle another way… we weren't exactly given the food…'

'Pa, we're sorry,' Eilya interrupted, rushing to her father's side. 'But we didn't have a choice, they were turning us away, we would have starved if we didn't get the food! And it was just sat there, on the butcher's counter, and the bread too – we got away! Dann knows a way in, from when he used to meet that girl, the Inn Keeper's daughter, in private, because he didn't like Dann, did he. And it was his idea anyway!'

Dannard scowled at his sister, but their father just sighed. 'Did anyone follow you here?' he asked simply.

'No, we out ran them back at the castle,' Dannard replied, removing his wet coat and running a hand through his floppy, matted hair.

The siblings looked similar, with their thick, chestnut-brown locks and piercing, crystal-blue eyes. Their pale features matched the skin tone of all other Northerners, although Eilya had often considered herself paler than her friends when they were children, when they used to play in the fields during the summer, and the only colour Eilya ever gained was from a few freckles on her little cheeks. This was back when her friends had been alive… now she only had her older brother and her father left in the world.

Rodrick nodded slowly and turned away from them. 'You two dry off, I'll prepare us dinner.'

Eilya shivered against the small fire at the head of the room as she too removed her wet coat. Dannard sat beside her, staring absent mindedly into the flames.

She daren't ask him what they were going to do once this food had gone.

Chapter title based loosely on the novel by Suzanne Collins (although the two are not linked in any way whatsoever).