A/N:This fic has been percolating in my brain for over a year, and it is apparently, finally ready to be written. It's kind of my baby, this AU has been near and dear to me for a long long time, I've always been a big lover of this particular time in history, and the idea of doing CS in this era ... well, I had to. I just wanted to get it right.
So I really hope you enjoy it. This is just the prologue, so don't expect anything major just yet, but don't worry. This fic is only plotted for ten chapters, so I hope you'll stick with me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Jon Snow.

Prologue
End of the Line

"It's not good for anyone to be alone." - Cheyenne proverb

Early April, 1850
Colorado Territory

It was fitting, Emma supposed, that the end of the line for her came in the small settlement they called Last Resort. It was in the Colorado Territory, but it was nowhere near the bigger towns of Denver or Colorado Springs.

But it was as far as she could go. She'd run out of money quite a while back, but the old stagecoach driver had taken pity on the young widowed mother, traveling alone with her small son.

That was the story she'd given, after all, and the only one she was going to give when asked. She couldn't very well tell the truth and expect anyone respectable or decent to want to help her. As far as anyone was concerned, Emma's husband had died in a factory fire, back in Boston, and she was heading West to live with her sister in the Colorado Territory.

She'd told it so many times now, she almost believed it. That she'd step off the stagecoach and find her home. It was a lie - a pretty one, but a lie nonetheless. But nobody needed to know that. All she wanted was to start over, to find someplace that she and her son might belong, that they might not be outcasts.

So when the kindly old driver told her he couldn't rightly take her any further, she'd understood. She'd laughed a little when he'd told her where they were, playing it off as though it were not too far from where she wanted to be, all along.

She knew the old man didn't believe her, but she was grateful that he didn't ask questions. She was afraid that if someone showed her even a bit of kindness ... she'd tell them everything, and she'd be shunned for it. It wouldn't be so bad if it was just her ... but Henry deserved better. It wasn't his fault, after all.

She looked down at him, a sleeping bundle in her arms, all of two years old, but the sweetest, most beautiful boy in the world ... the only thing she'd ever had that was hers. "Thank you," she told the stage driver softly. She didn't have much to gather, just her son and one small knapsack with their meager belongings, so it didn't take her long to be on her way, wishing she could've offered the driver more money, for having brought her as far as he had.

It was raining when she stepped off the coach, and she used her thin cloak to cover Henry, still sleeping soundly, and protect him from the rain. The mud squelched beneath the toes of her old boots, and she tried to keep her skirts up as much as she could without being improper, as she made her way toward the nearest building, a rough-hewn, two-story wooden construct with a sign bearing weathered red letters pronouncing it the Lucas' Boarding House. Emma didn't have any money, but surely they'd let her sit by the fire for a moment. The only other option, as far as she could see, was the Saloon. And she hadn't quite hit those dire straits yet.

She could feel the eyes of the other patrons - though there were mercifully, not that many. She didn't suppose many people stopped here, not with Colorado Springs only another day or two's ride away. It was probably better for her here, than anywhere else.

"May I help you, Miss?" The old woman who greeted her seemed stern, but her eyes were kind, and Emma didn't think she looked particularly inclined to kick her out. At least, she hoped not.

"I was only hoping I might sit by your fire for a moment. We've been traveling a long way, you see ... "

Emma didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, before she was being ushered over to one of the chairs by the fire, the old woman pulling off her sodden cloak as they walked. "You are soaked clean through," she tsked at Emma, before her eyes landed on the sleeping boy at her chest. "You must be hungry, have a seat and I'll have my girl fetch something."

Emma shook her head, holding up her free hand, her eyes widening with a panic. "No, no, I can't ... I couldn't ... "

"Of course you can. That's what we're here for, after all, didn't you read the sign?"

Emma felt her cheeks burning then, knowing everyone in the modest but cozy room was staring at this point. She lowered her gaze, shaking her head, her voice very low. "I can't pay you ... I don't have any money." There'd been a time when she could have picked the pocket of every man in the room without them ever having been any wiser for it ... but ever since having Henry, she'd tried to keep herself straight and narrow. For his sake. She didn't want him to end up alone, the way she'd grown up. She wouldn't do that to him. She'd die first.

She could feel the old woman's eyes on her, but she didn't dare look up, afraid of what sort of condescending or judgmental look she might find there. She couldn't bear it, it was the reason she'd left Boston, because everywhere she'd gone had reminded her of him, and everyone she knew ... well, they knew.

"Look at me, girl." The woman's voice was firm, but not unkind. "You used the last of your money getting here, didn't you?" she asked, and Emma could only swallow thickly and nod. "And now you're planning to stay?"

"I don't have anywhere to go," Emma said feebly, before taking a deep breath. The story. She had a story, one that made sense, one that might get her some sympathy or at least help her avoid the consternation that came with a situation like hers. "I'm trying to make it to ... to my sister, she's in Denver, but I couldn't afford the train or the stagecoach ride all the way there. I was hoping to send word to her." It came easier now, the more times she said it. "My husband ... he died and we don't have anyone else."

"So you need a place to stay. Food. For you, and for the boy." The woman cracked a smile then, and it transformed her whole face. She looked like someone's kindly grandmother then, or what Emma assumed a kindly grandmother would look like, not having ever had one of her own. "Until you can get word to your sister, and make more permanent arrangements."

"I couldn't ... impose," Emma said, hating herself for having even that little flicker of hope rising in her chest then. She knew better than to wish for things, or to let herself be happy. Every time ... every time, she ended up worse off than she'd been before.

"You wouldn't be. It's just me and my granddaughter around here, and we can always use an extra hand. In return for food and board ... you could help us out."

Emma bit her lip, her brow creasing as she considered the woman's words. It sounded a lot like charity to her ears, and she'd always liked to assume that she could do things on her own. She'd gotten by for 18 years on her own, after all ... though no one could say she'd done it well. And, well ... it wasn't as though she had any other prospects. Maybe she'd be able to save up enough to make her way to one of the bigger towns, to lose herself, before anyone here would ever know the truth.

"Do you have a better plan, at the moment?"

Emma could only shake her head at that. "I just don't want to be a burden."

"You pull your weight and you'll be no burden to us, in fact, you'd be a godsend."

No one had ever called her anything like that before - well, no one who'd actually meant it, and Emma couldn't help but smile a little wanly. She didn't know if it was Fortune or Providence smiling on her today, but she couldn't very well turn down help like this, not at this point. "Well in that case, I accept," she said. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

"A name wouldn't go amiss, for one."

"Emma. My name's Emma. And this is Henry." She nodded her head down to where Henry still slept, oblivious to the world, and she was ever-so-grateful that he was. By the time he was old enough to remember things, she wanted them to have a better life.

"Pleasure to meet you, Emma. I'm Widow Lucas - though everyone in these parts calls me Granny, and I'm sure you'll come to do it, too. As for what I need you to do ... " She pointed her finger to the chair by the fire, "I need you to sit and warm up, and eat something, it looks like it's been days. And then you'll get a good night's rest, and my granddaughter will show you the ropes come morning."

Emma could only smile and nod, moving to sit down in the chair, her body sagging with relief against the cushions. She was grateful to have a warm place to stay, and food for both her and Henry for at least a few weeks, before she was able to move on again. She didn't plan on making this place her permanent residence, she couldn't really afford to do that. Getting attached to things - to people, to places - it never ended well. She'd learned that lesson the hard way, all her life. And the one time she'd thought it might be different, the one time she'd thought things were going to change ... well. She'd been reminded that nothing really ever did.

She'd think about this night, in the future, and be glad that this was as far along the stagecoach line as she was able to go. But it would be awhile before she did. It would be a long time before she'd think of this place as anything but a stopping point, and longer still for her to think of it as home.

But she would. And she'd think on this night, this first night in Last Resort, in the days and weeks and months to come, when the spring rains stopped and the ground hardened to the hard-baked red clay that had given the Territory its name. She'd think about this first night when the first flowers started to bloom, when the landscape went from drab and brown to fragrant and green. She'd think about it as she watched newfound friends marry and die and give birth. She'd think about it during starlit nights spent out in the wild, learning how to live off the land, learning the names of the stars, learning the sound of a laugh that was the most beautiful music her ears would ever hear ... learning that not everyone was going to leave.

Oh, she'd think on this night a lot in the days and weeks and months to come. She'd think about how the smallest little moment, and a place that was only meant to be a stopping point on her way somewhere else ... how it would become everything to her. How the color red would permanently become etched into her mind as a sign of all things good, all things right.

Right now, all she wanted was food in her belly and in her son's, and a pillow to rest her head on for the night. It was all she wanted for now, and she couldn't let herself dream or hope or wish for anything more than that. She couldn't let herself want more than just what was necessary to survive. She couldn't let herself hope. Not ever again.

But in the morning, everything would change ...

To be continued

In Chapter One - Emma meets some more of the townsfolk ... and one intriguing outsider.