The Rookery sat on top of the Rock, separated from the main tower of the old Ringfort by a narrow bridge. Jeyne paused to recover her breath, her hands clutching the small bundle of cloth she had brought. It was a steep climb all the way to the top and an unsteady walk across the bridge to the maester's study.

On a clear day, she could see all the way to Lannisport, but today, the world below was covered in layers of thick gray clouds, swallowing the sound of the waves and the cries of the gulls. All she could see were the tower ahead of her and the rope she held on to as she made her way across.

Still, Jeyne was glad whenever she had an excuse to come up here. Down in her own chambers, the weight of Casterly Rock always seemed to suffocate her. Up here, the air was fresh, and the sound of wind rustling through the trees in the small courtyard below reminded her of her childhood. When she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was home.

After six years at the Rock, she missed the green rolling hills surrounding Ashemark more than she could say. Sometimes she wondered if Lord Gerold would send her back to her father's seat. But that was no more than wishful thinking, she knew. What would my parents do with me? A barren woman, useless as nipples on a breastplate, no more than a cruel jape from the gods.

She looked down at the thick shrouds of fog concealing the sharp rocks below. On some days, she thought of ending it all: taking one wrong step, falling through the clouds and letting herself become one with the waves crashing against the stone half a mile below.

I'd do them all a favor. Tytos would be able to marry again without the trouble of having to set me aside. Half the houses in the Westerlands were ready to send their daughters to Casterly Rock, and the other half already had. She often asked herself which of her ladies-in-waiting would be the lucky one to replace her.

None, if it were up to Tytos. Her husband had shown more courage than most men in defending her, displaying an uncharacteristic stubbornness for a man so eager to please his elders. But if rumor could be believed Lord Gerold had lost patience with his son and sent a raven to the High Septon at last, asking for his blessing to annul the marriage. Tytos won't be able to defy his father much longer.

A fire was burning in the Rookery. The maester was writing a letter, raising his head as she entered. "Lady Jeyne." He did not seem surprised to see her.

He's been expecting me, Jeyne thought. Even in Oldtown they know the wife to the future lord of Casterly Rock is still without child.

The man the Citadel had sent was young, not much older than herself, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with flaxen hair and a close-cropped beard. Instead of the usual maester's robe of brown roughspun, he wore a tunic made of fine linen and a fur-lined half-cape that covered most of the heavy chain around his neck.

"My husband sent me-" Jeyne began. It was a lie, but she no longer cared.

The maester waved a hand at her. "No need to explain. The young lord has already told me of your difficulties. I was going to see you in your own chambers to spare you the trouble of coming all the way up here." He rose from his chair. Jeyne had briefly seen him the day he'd arrived from Oldtown. He'd seemed frightened of Lord Gerold, trembling and shaking on his knees as he kissed his new lord's hand, but up here in his own study, he looked taller, more confident. "How long since your last moon blood, my lady?"

"A fortnight." She remembered the morning the blood had come, the wetness between her legs, the smell, the sense of despair after another month of hope. She'd burned her smallclothes in the hearth, but her handmaid had seen her and told Lord Gerold. "Perhaps my womb has moved up again. Maester Gormond always said my womb had a habit to wander, and that was why I couldn't- why I can't- he tried to help me keep it in the right place, but-"

The maester laced his fingers together, studying her. His eyes were a watery green, the color of the Sunset Sea on a clear, windy day. "I must admit that during my years at the Citadel, I have never seen a case of a wandering womb. I might even say I've become convinced a woman's womb rarely wanders at all." He stopped when he noticed the look in her eyes. "I can come find you in your own bedchamber and take another look later, my lady. It'll be more comfortable than here."

She shook her head. "That's not why I'm here. I've been wondering if there is anything else you can give me. Maester Gormond was a good man, but he was old. Perhaps there were things he did not know, new treatments, new methods-"

"What have you tried?"

Everything. The cooks at the Rock spiced her food with cloves, deer horn and orange peel to drive out the dampness that prevented her body from conceiving. She'd drunk mare's blood, and Tytos had even asked the cooks to feed her the afterbirth of a lioness that had cast litter of five strong cubs. The bloody tissue had made her gag. But she was willing to do whatever it took.

"Herbs and spices," she said. "Blood from the womb of more fertile creatures than myself. And prayer." Lots and lots of prayer. Her knees were wound from the hours and days she had spent in the sept, praying to the Mother. She'd gone so far as to beg the Stranger to help her, offering him her own life if only he would give her a son. But in the end, the Stranger was just as indifferent to her plight as the other gods, and her belly remained flat.

"Ah. Spices and prayer." The way he said the word prayer told her everything she needed to know.

Now or never. She pulled out the small bundle of cloth, opening it. The mass inside was the size of her fist, raw and bloody, with a large head and tiny hands and feet. The smell of fresh meat made the ravens squawk and jump up and down in their cages.

Jeyne had expected the man to recoil at the sight, but he looked at it almost curiously, a hint of a smile on his face. "Not yours, I'd assume?"

"My handmaiden's. She did not want it." It was only half a lie, and the girl was just as dead now as her unborn child. "The woods witch who cut it out told me-"

"She told you it would make you fertile," the maester interrupted her. "Aye. She told you to cut out its heart and consume it raw, to cook the rest and eat it over the course of seven days and seven nights." He took the bloody cloth from her hands, studying the small, mangled body before tearing the soft flesh apart with his hands and feeding it to his ravens. "The woods witch lied. This will make you no more fertile than drinking the blood of a mare in heat or praying to the Father to forgive you your sins, child."

Jeyne watched as the birds gobbled down her last hope, unable to move or speak. Lord Gerold will force me to become a septa, was all she could think. No. He will send me to the Silent Sisters as punishment for all the trouble I've given him and his family.

"There is another possibility," the maester said softly, wiping the blood off his hands after the ravens had finished their meal. "Has it ever occurred to you that the problem lies not with you but with your lord husband?"