A/N: Hi guys and thanks for reading! This is a fan made house that takes place mid season three before the events of the Red Wedding. After the few intial chapters things will tie into the series. Please enojy!
Disclaimer: I do not own GoT, I just right Fanfics.
Bright noonday sun of high summer gleamed down upon the highlands of Westeros. A warm breeze brought in by the sea stirred the wheat in the field and caused the fragrance of blossoms to drift in the zephyr. Immaculate alabaster clouds, puffy and full, scudded languidly through the air and seemed to beckon even the most shut in to come outside and watch the shapes as they cruised by.
Warmth and ease filled the world and yet as Aya Cameron looked up upon the magnitude that was Shadowcat Hall, a dark dread like the coming of a harsh winter filled her bones and breathed ice into her lungs.
This was her first time in the keep, in Westeros in fact, and the more she saw the more she felt chill and discomforted and alone. Perhaps, she thought, she was only feeling homesick for Valantis but then again, she supposed as she gazed all around her at the forbidding castle, mayhap her feelings were all too justified. There was an eerie feeling about her families ancient home and she could feel the prepossessed wariness of the old castle taking hold of her courage and ripping the bravery asunder to allow in the dread feeling of fear.
Feelings or not, she knew gravely, she was bidden to go and with the stern banner-men flanking her they would nary let her get away because the place gave her the spooks. Besides, she wasn't a little girl any more but a grown woman of seventeen. Old creaky castles and haunted hovels were for frightened little girls nor for Aya Cameron.
Riding slowly towards the castle, Aya Cameron, in the prime of her youth, looked every inch the beautiful noble woman she was reared to be. Her skin was just a touch darker than chocolate and her hair kinky and curly but oiled and styled short and tight. Thoughtful maple eyes fell across her new surroundings with a naive intelligence of the ignorant but ready to learn.
She wore a plain riding dress, well made and expensive, but brown and dull to keep too many eyes from looking upon her. That rarely did keep the stares away for long, however despite the noble intentions of her father. She was a beauty and she knew it as well as those she met who looked upon her with hungry, voracious eyes that seemed to undress her thread by thread.
Normally she focused on how to redirect those stares but today her sole attention rested on the stronghold before her and her jittery nerves that took her would be time for that later, for now she had to face the ill feelings that stole upon her senses.
Taking a deep breath and forcing her nerves to steady less she spook the cantering horse, she settled her eyes on the hall as if inspecting the place to work out every detail and abolish her fear of mere stone and mortar and wood. The place was impressive, she admitted, to herself but as she gazed upon the castle more the feeling of dread mounted with every shadow and crevice she made out upon the ancient home.
Shadowcat Hall was an immense fortress that was said to put the castle at Casterly Rock to shame. Built on a rocky outcropping close to a snaking black river, the castle was once a great defender of the land when the kingdoms had not been united before the dragon kings. Back in those days other so called kings and lords of great station had lined up to curry the Cameron's favor for their advantages of their hills and river and fecundate land. From their tribute and from the spoils of war the Hall had been built high and steadfast into the rock itself.
Huge towers carved into the rock were pockmarked with wide windows to espy enemy ships or rain down arrows on an enemies head. The main castle was a gargantuan stone mass made from rock carved out by a nearby cliff. The walls surrounding the sides that didn't face the river were high and indomitable and a merciless slate gray that matched not at all with the sunny landscape the keep was so fortuitously perched upon. On the walls, banners of black and purple trim with an amethyst Shadowcat in a skulking pose in the center rippled in the warm breeze and the pennants with the same sigil snapped atop the keeps towers.
Here before her was once great and stately House Cameron, the house all of the nobles of Westeros wanted to forget. Situated south of the King's Landing, House Cameron ruled fertile, rolling hill land for as far as the eye could see and a river that governed the passage of ships from King's Landing to the Shimmering Sea. Theirs was an ancient house, and they were an ancient people.
They were even earlier than the first men, some speculated but few dared repeat the supposing aloud less other houses grow affronted. Wars were started by less she had heard for Westeros was a barbarous land they said on her journey to the strange realm that was nothing at all like the Valantis she knew.
"We're here, my lady," one of the banner-men declared firmly as they finally came to a stop inside the gates.
The inside of the castle grounds was a busy enough place. The dust of a dozen feet stuttered up and dirtied already dirty people who didn't notice. Children laughed and played, people traded, dogs barks, and old wheels or carts and barrows squeaked as people went about their business. A few people stopped to stare but none came to give her any sort of welcome.
Not knowing if she should have felt relief or insulted, Aya smiled to the banner-man who all but announced his duty done, and dismounted her mare. Her hand slid up to the horse's neck and she patted the beast in thanks for the safe journey. Horses were a passion she loved and that was one thing she looked forward to on her venture to Westeros, with all the rolling hills here she could see herself riding forever with the sun on her back and all her troubles behind her.
Placing her brow upon the horse's sweaty neck, she took in a deep breath to try and find her nerve. Despite her fancies and wants she felt as if she was riding right into trouble. How could they be behind her ills when she was going straight into their jaws?
"She's arrived, finally!" a kind, motherly voice crowed suddenly from the castle doors.
Forcing her thoughts away, Aya turned towards the voice and couldn't help but smile at the pudgy woman waddling towards her. Dressed in a plain gray gown, and slippers she wore a wimple of white over her head marking her as a Septa of some kind. Her cheeks were ruddy and greasy as if she'd been elbow deep in a boar and as she neared Aya suspected she'd been in more than just meat.
Stopping a fair distance away the wimpled woman eyed the horses distrustfully for a moment, her smile turning into a wary half frown before she turned her attention back to Aya. Once more her shining face beamed with the greasy sheen that reminded the young lady of melted tallow. "Welcome to Shadowcat Hall, Lady Aya. I am Septa Frani." The woman wobbled a half curtsy that would have, in Aya's estimation, had her laughed out of Valantis.
Scolding herself, Aya shoved the poor thought aside and smiled cheerily at the corpulent Septa. "It's my pleasure to be here in the ancient home of my kin," she returned kindly and dipped into a proper curtesy, just to show the old Septa how things were done.
"I'm sorry there's not more of a greeting for you, my dear," she apologized profusely as she rubbed her sweaty, warty hands down her dress. To Aya she seemed as if she was trying to brush away the displeasure of not having things the way they should be to greet a lady. She could not fault her for that, however, for her own Septa had been a woman who liked things just as they were supposed to be done as well.
Cheerily Aya bounded the few steps towards the Septa. "That's alright, Septa Frani. Hard times can overlook less important matters. I've been well informed about the situation here in Westeros, the wars, the five kings vying for power. As I know of things, what little I do know, is that house Cameron is aligned with the Lannister's and that most of her men came to his call with the High Garden folk to repel Stannis Baratheon from King's Landing."
Anyone would be a fool to oppose them and even all the way in Valantis she knew that. The Lannister's were powerful people and this was their realm. She would rather cross a wolf than one of them.
"Yes, yes." The Septa pattered her arms almost distractedly, her face falling a little. "House Cameron would be fools to offer their support to anyone else." A drear silence captured her for a moment before she perked up like a flower who needed only a drink to bloom again. "Well come, we mustn't keep Lord Cameron waiting. He will want to meet you right away."
Nodding once, Aya allowed herself to be guided by the kindly Septa. The two banner-men walked just a little behind them, their tread clanking in dreary tempo as their armor of mail and leather jangled with every step.
Only once did Aya look back to them and her eyes instantly fell to their hands. Their fingers were wrapped around their blades in vices and as she looked up she saw their faces tight and drawn. Perhaps, she thought, they too sensed the unease and foreboding that encapsulated Shadowcat Hall.
The thought was jarred from her brain as they entered into the gaping maw of the twin doors and into the castle. The thick dark stone radiated a cold that seeped into the bones and blocked out all the sun. Large torches on either side of the wide hall guttered angrily in their sconces and cast superstitious witch light against the opposing walls and floor. Banners hung betwixt the torches, each of the Shadowcat sigil. In the meager torchlight the cats crested upon the cloth seemed to prowl from one banner to the next so that Aya felt as if only one cat composed each banner on either side of the hall and followed every step she made.
"Things are a bit dark in here," the Septa admitted bashfully with forced, high-pitched brightness.
Aya jumped at the sound of her voice and she felt the banner-men tense behind her. Her heart hammered in her ears like drums and seemed to deafen her to the Septa's words. The older woman's mouth moved with rapid anxiety but she heard nothing until they finally reached the great hall.
"And here we are, Lady Aya," the Septa finally finished as she stopped at the door of the great hall.
The hall was a massive place, built with a pyramid shaped top rather than the humble rectangular buildings of the same use. Large tables lined either side of the hall and two huge fire places sat dead but faced one another on either side of the room. The banners of House Cameron flanked the door where they stood and they mirrored the two banners hanging betwixt a large solid stone throne were a diminutive figure sat.
For a moment Aya thought a child had been left sitting on the throne but as her eyes adjusted to the dimness she saw the host for who he was. Wedged there upon the throne sat none other than the aged Lord Cameron.
Lord Torrence Cameron was said to be the oldest man in all of Westeros and his appearance relayed the rumors as true. Dark as night skin sagged over his frail and aged bones. His once rich black, curly hair was long gone and left his head slick and bald. Bags of skin wobbled down from his neck and the his entire head protruded somewhat, giving him the look of a turkey set to be killed. His face was sagged and sullen and his eyes were sunken far into his skull as if life were sucking them into his body. How old he actually was no one knew save himself and his family and those secrets were ones they kept well.
Dressed in but a long black robe fringed with purple, he cut the figure of a man who'd just risen from bed rather than any busy Lord.
Bent like a maester far past even his elderly years, Lord Cameron slumped in the noble, shining seat. His breath came out in ragged wheezes and he seemed ready for death at any moment. Why he was sitting up, how he was sitting up, seemed a miracle in and of itself.
"Thank you, Septa Frani, that will be all." His gnarled fingers ever so slightly flicked towards the Septa. "Leave us, I wish to speak with this young lady alone."
More than happy to depart, the Septa preformed a hasty curtsy and shut the doors. The twin portals shut with a jarring bang but to Aya's credit she didn't jump. Beyond the wooden portals she heard the banner-men take guard to allow no one entry.
"Aya Cameron," Torrence tested the name on his lips and gave one approving bob of his head. "My first wife's name was Aya. I dare say there have been at least nine Aya's in the family since. Come closer, girl, let me get a better look at you so I can see if the name matches the face."
Hands clasped in front of her, Aya obediently padded a few steps towards the throne. "The name is very pretty, Lord Cameron, the women in Valantis found it exotic."
"Exotic is another word for barbarous, my dear," he sputtered as if his words were water meant to douse her proud flame. Before she could respond, he coughed once, not bothering to cover his mouth. A bit of spittle touched her lip but she had the good grace not to wince in disgust. "I did not summon you here to talk of Valantis. I find her people droll and their thoughts insipid."
Forcing back a frown, Aya smiled despite her repulsion to his frankness and his spit. "With all due respect, what was the summons for? Your letter came quite unexpected to my father."
Of course there were only a few things a man like Torrence Cameron would summon a great, great, great granddaughter for so far away. She was a noble and prepared for many occurrences. She only prayed to the Seven that he would not throw her for a turn she did not expect.
"I summoned you because you're at an age to be wed," he rasped slowly as if the matter was obvious.
Aya breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping. That she was prepared for. She had long known her marriage would not be to someone of her choosing. She always had thought her father would marry her to some rich noble in Valantis who wanted to brag about a Westeros wife. There had been three daughters before her and they were all married to men from Westeros. One woman out of four not marrying a Westeros man wouldn't have mattered but she had to except she would share their fate.
"Who is this gentleman I am slated to be wed to, my lord?" she queried decorously, trying not to show too much relief.
He coughed again, spittle launching into her face once more. "I don't know yet," he spat at his feet but couldn't summon enough energy to wipe his mouth.
Surprise carved Aya's face as if some invisible hand had molded her creamy, dark skin. "Lord Cameron, normally when summoned from such a great distance the man has already been chosen."
Who would summon a maiden all the way across the Shimmering Sea without even the suggestion of a marriage?
"I know how things are done," he chided her sharply though his voice didn't rise beyond a wheeze. "But these are different times…," he muttered as if talking to himself. Mumbling incoherently for a moment he sudden stopped as if someone had warned him his mind was straying. "Tell me," he started again at last, "What do you know about our illustrious house?"
Mind still whirling, the question knocked the rest of her guard down and left her speechless. Her mouth moved up and down like a drowning fish and she certainly felt like one flopping about on a foreign shore.
Not waiting any longer for her to respond, he dipped his head towards the banners behind her. "The Shadowcat is our sigil, wily and nimble and fierce. A smart one can take on even the toughest beast, a wolf, a stag…. A lion," Torrence rasped out loud to his great, great, great granddaughter, breaking her blank thoughts. His eyes, rheumy with age but still fired with life, darted to the other banner as if he'd seen something move. "Did your father teach you everything about us or only a few tidbits he found noteworthy while he was drunk?"
Aya Cameron shifted uncomfortable before her great, great, great grandfather. His presence, while slight, was unnerving and his eyes were sharper than a man at his age should have been. He was frank and his distaste for her father, while understandable, left her with the feeling that he too loathed her.
Smiling to hide her discomfiture Aya bobbed her head once. "He taught me everything Lord Cameron," she lied. "My father was always proud of our house."
In truth, she knew little of their once grand house. Her father, Cas Cameron, had never much cared for the house, merely their gold and status. He liked to dress like a native of Valantis and speak her tongue and dance her dances. One would scarcely recognize him as being of Westeros now. He despised their house so much so that she'd only learned she was of Westeros on her eighth name day when her sister sent her a gift with the Shadowcat sigil.
"You're a terrible liar, dear. He never showed that pride otherwise he wouldn't have run off to Valantis to raise his spawns and bed pretty whores who smell like spice," the old man scoffed disdainfully, his entire body jerking at the effort. He licked his chapped lips once causing them to shine in the torch light and slowly, achingly slow, turned his head towards her again. "What are our words, child? Do you even know that?"
Aya perked up like a bright child with a surly tutor who finally knew the answer to a trick question. "Cameron's never die."
"Wrong," he wheezed at her chidingly. "A common mistake but one your sorry father was apt to make. His father never taught him much." His sagging head turned again to one of the purple and black banners hanging from the wall. Pride filled his eyes and despite his age he forced himself to sit up an inch straighter. His fingers hugged the wooden arms to his chair and trembled with the effort. "Are words are…" He never finished as coughing wracked him.
His entire body trembled as if with palsy whilst his hands gripped the chair with what little life remained in him. The darkness of his face paled as his eyes bulged in his coughing fit. Blood flecked his spittle and Aya reeled as his blood speckled her face.
A side door suddenly screeched open and the Septa, a grim looking maester, and two guards rushed in. Hobbling towards the throne, the maester all but fell against the chair and held a pale, waxy hand to the Lord's brow then mumbled a few words to the guards.
Gently the guards took up the old man and led him to his chambers. Helpless and distraught by her lack of knowing, Aya watched as the man she thought was frail already become like a child in their hands. This was the man who'd ripped her away from all she loved? A little shell who couldn't even tell her who she was to wed?
Was life always so unfair?
"Poor Lord Cameron." The Septa shook her head. "It's probably taken all of him to simply sit and talk that little while." Walking over to Aya she wrapped a hand around her arm and gave it a gentle pat. "Come, I'll show you to your chambers and have supper sent up to you, you must be tired."
Not tired at all but not wishing to seem rude, Aya followed the woman as if in a trance. Her mind danced with her own private thoughts until they reached her room. The Septa pushed open the door to a rather lavish apartment. The room was cozy and welcoming as any place in Shadowcat Hall could be. Several large, glass filled windows opened in the dark stone, revealing the wonderful world of hill and river. Tri-legged oaken tables with bowls of fruit and wine clustered under one window while horsehair stuffed chairs were cozied to a dead fireplace. A large feather bed from King's Landing sat in the center and in a less exquisite chair half turned to a window, a sharp looking woman with skin as near dark as Torrence's sat with her thread and needle.
Thin as a rail, the woman looked strict and harsh. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun and gray streaked along her temples. Dressed in an expensive purple gown she looked out of place for a lady in waiting but what else could she have been?
"Lady Inti, I didn't know you'd be here," the Septa hissed almost hatefully as she stopped at the door.
The woman, Lady Inti, didn't look up from her sewing. "I'm glad," she replied curtly, her lips barely moving.
There was no love lost between these two, Aya knew instantly and felt like a mouse caught betwixt two street cats. This was no servant, then, but some noble woman sent to accommodate her? Perhaps she was one of Torrence's old lovers or, she supposed, maybe a bastard daughter he decided not to part with. Whatever she was, Aya already knew she was trouble.
"You may leave us Septa Frani," Inti dismissed her cavalierly, inadvertently cutting off Aya's thoughts in the process.
Huffing loudly to show she was duly offended, the Septa backed away and shut the door with a hard slam.
Uncertain what to do or say to the woman, Aya performed a curt half-bow. "Lady Inti, it is a pleasure."
"You don't have to call me that, dear, I'm no lady, merely a friend of the house."
Confused, the young girl eyed her hesitantly. "Are you an old faithful servant, then?" She didn't sound convinced.
"Not that either but we will be spending a lot of time together." Taking a hand off her needlework, she patted the welcoming bed beside her. "Come. Sit. I enjoy company."
Feeling uncomfortably like a lady-in-waiting rather than a lady herself, Aya did as bade and padded forward. Smoothing her dress she sat at the edge and looked out of the nearby window to the river. The lazy tributary wended in a curve where she could see and right past the keep towards King's Landing. A few ships bound for that illustrious city flew the banners of House Greyjoy no doubt with salt or whatever they exported form the Iron Isles.
Perching a hand under her chin, she gazed wistfully out at the water. "This place is filled with beauty," she declared, feeling as if she had nothing else to say to the strange woman.
"And so much dread, yes?" Inti added, her voice nearly sly.
Aya eyed her suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"
"Only that you've come a long way, dear and you must be feeling homesick. Valantis is a far different place than Westeros," the strange lady returned kindly.
Hers was a false kindness, Aya could tell instantly but dared not call her to task on something she could not prove. "I suppose so," she admitted begrudgingly. "But this is home now, Westeros, the land of my father and father's father and his before that and so on."
"Such a dutiful girl, noble with a head filled to the brim with other people's thoughts," Inti mocked as she stabbed her needle into her work.
A scowl marred Aya's face, her eyes flashing with anger. "Are you always this rude?"
"We like to call that frankness here, dear," she chuckled back.
"I don't care what you call this, I won't stand for your mockery," she snapped. She had a Cameron's temper if there was anything that could be said about her blood.
Inti shrugged, nonplused by her anger. "Then let's talk about something that won't have me mock you. We'll make it a game. Silly girls like games I hear."
"We'll play no games," she shot back coldly. "Instead I want to ask you something."
"I'll do my best to answer." She bobbed her head once.
Aya shifted slightly, her shoulders straightening until she felt as if she was looking down on the woman. "Lord Cameron and I were discussing our House when he suffered a coughing fit. Before he left he never told me what are true house saying is. The next time I meet him I would like to know. Since you're a long friend of the family I assume you know what I do not."
Hard as admitting her ignorance was, she would not let her pride get in the way of needed knowledge. She wanted to be better prepared the next time she met Lord Cameron and impress him as being a fast learner. She would be a Westeros woman yet.
The elderly woman heaved her shoulders in a shrug. "I've helped girls at Shadowcat Hall stitch the words for ages and they've never failed to send a chill down my spine. It's why most folk say our unofficial house saying more than the real one."
Curious beyond capacity now, Aya leaned forward as if to inhale a secret. "Tell me then, what is it?"
Refusing to look at her, Inti stared out the window into the calm waters of the black river. "Only sleeping, never dead."