A/N: Thank you for the follows and reviews, I hope you guys can stomach my paper-thin premise to get Eira up on the Wall, ha-ha. Also, I love Benjen, he's much fun to write. Please enjoy and review, let me know how I'm doing, oh and if anybody has it in their hearts to beta-read for me, well that'd be just golden. Thanks again for following!

Chapter Three

.*oOo*.

Vomiting into the garderobe which she and Septa Brynhild shared, Eira coughed and spluttered; wiping her mouth and chin grimly, she felt the septa pull back a strand of her sweat-soaked hair and click her tongue, "Oh, child. You've many more months of that!" The septa's cackle brought a scowl to Eira's face, her snappy retort was cut off as another surge of sickness hit her in droves and she retched again, clasping her belly and cursing the little monster that grew within. The past twelve or so mornings had been the same, Eira would rise from her lumpy bed with a heavy stomach and then after no more than a few moments she would throw a hand over her mouth and make a bee-line for the privy.

"God's Blood, I hate this..." She gurgled and spat a stray mouthful of vomit into the pan. The septa gave her shoulder a hearty pat and tied her hair back loosely, Eira heard the septa bustle off, mumbling about preparing some food so she could break her fast. "I'm not hungry, Septa. Really." Eira managed through gags and the old woman sighed and said slowly,

"You must keep up your strength, Eira. The child in your belly will take more strength than it'll give back. This will seem like nothing whence it's actually here, you'll see."

"I would lie down...I-I feel shaky." Eira coughed and the septa nodded, helping the trembling girl through to her end of the room and lay her down on the bed carefully; the septa's wrinkled face was uncharacteristically shadowed with sympathy and she submerged a rag in cold water and gently pressed it against the girl's feverish brow and asked tenderly, "Is that a little better?"

"Yes, Septa; thank you." Eira nodded, her eyes closed and her eyelids waxy.

Sleep overcame her and she saw no more.

.*oOo*.

"I have some news,"

The septa said as she came in through the door; Eira had been sewing a little jerkin for her soon-to-be-born child, neutral in colour; it was a ghastly shade of lemon. Eira did not care for it and balked when the septa had produced the bolt of cloth to sew with. The red-headed girl had sworn to the Old Gods and New that she would not use it, but it seemed boredom had sank its damnable claws in deep enough to prompt the girl to sew. Eira hated sewing. Looking up, she placed the half-made garment aside and watched as the septa sat down with a very heavy sigh, her dull blue eyes were sad and Eira sat straighter, worry niggling her brain;

"First; the King rode for King's Landing yesterday and second; there seems to have been trouble at Winterfell."

"Trouble?" The girl whispered and the septa bobbed her wimpled head, "Yes...One of the Stark boys had an accident...The second-born had a fall from one of the old towers. He's been abed for the past two weeks."

Eira covered her mouth, her green eyes widened in shock. Oh, poor Lady Catelyn she thought and eyed Septa Brynhild, whose eyes were watching her closely as the girl's hand came up to absently rub her own swelling belly. "Is...Is Bran alright? Did you hear anything else? Has the King made Lord Eddard Hand yet?"

"Aye. Word coming south is that Lord Eddard accepted."

"My father said he didn't have much choice..." Eira commented and Septa Brynhild glared at her hard, "The King is King and the last Hand was like a father to both Lord Stark and King Robert – it's only natural that the King would appoint Lord Stark." Silently, Eira nodded and picked up her sewing; she ignored the septa as she produced from her little herbalist's pack some wolfs bane and mutton fat.

"Bran's third-born, by the way." Eira added quietly and she heard the septa's movements halt. Eira peered up, meeting the septa's steely eyes; "Ned Stark has a bastard too."

"Yes," The septa agreed cagily before denouncing coldly, "And he carries his sin less lightly than you."

"Not literally."

Eira pointed out wryly and she had to hold back a grin as the septa turned up her nose. She thought that if the septa had more of a sense of humour the old woman might have laughed, instead she busied herself muttering about the eternal damnation of Eira's soul by the Mother. Once her back was turned; Eira smiled wickedly.

Life in Mole's Town was quiet and boring; well, quiet was not really the word. Eira could hear the festivities from the tavern which was just down the lane; the Men of the Watch seemed to be the only source of trade for the merchants of the small underground town; Eira had seen more crows here than anywhere else in her whole life. She noted with a pang of gloom that Yoren had returned to the Wall according to her new landlord, Lynnus. Eira would miss the gruff man's quips; living with Septa Brynhild was more than dull. It was downright tedious. The septa had the girl sew half a dozen little gowns for her unborn child; all in subtle, pale hues of baby blue, white and lemon.

Damn that lemon-coloured silk.

Eira's breasts pained her and made her wriggle in discomfort; so much so that Septa Brynhild made her a drought of milk of the poppy to stop her from grimacing every time she moved. The doses made Eira drowsy and the septa kept an eye on her to make sure she did not ingest too much. Eira filled her boring days with sewing, vomiting, mixing and reading while Septa Brynhild kept the place clean and tidy and prepared all the meals.

After two weeks of sleep-inducing tedium, Eira announced that she was going to go and check on their horses and make sure they were well cared for and not getting fat. Septa Brynhild's brow knotted at the idea and her mouth was set like a trap in her anxiousness; would Eira not wait until she was a little stronger? No. Could she be persuaded to not go? No.

"Very well then, but do not be too long and keep to the well-trod areas. Mole's Town is dark enough without you wandering off down some off-beaten track and getting yourself in trouble."

"Shall do, Septa." Eira replied lightly and wrapped her fur mantle around her shoulders and departed.

Eira had no idea what the time was to be honest but it must have been quite early; the big-busted wenches from the whorehouse were stalking bow-legged from the brothel to the alehouse, Eira watched them for a moment curiously, some of them still had men dangling from their shoulders guffawing and cracking jokes with them and they laughed prettily. Outside the tavern a portly woman was sweeping up the broken glass from the night before and beside her a slight girl – whom, Eira assumed was her assistant – was scattering fresh sand over some blood which must have been spilled in a brawl.

It took Eira all her self-restraint to not gag at the sight of the blood or the smell of it for that matter and she turned down a narrow lane which fed into the little merchant's market and to her dismay it was packed tighter than a net full of fish – and smelled just as bad. She held her breath as she gently minced her way past traders, whores, Men of the Watch and general travellers; her breath caught in her throat when she felt a hand grip her wrist; she whipped round to behold the ugly face of a man, his eyes blackened and the side of his mouth bruised, he had several teeth missing and he snarled brutally at her,

"Give me all your coin little lady and I won't stick you like a pig."

With that, Eira gasped sharply as she felt the point of a concealed blade press up against her belly. Fright gripped her and she relented, reaching into her purse, the pickpocket eyed her feverishly and snapped, "Come on! Come on, you slut!" She held out the purse and he snatched it out of her hand, she flinched fearfully and he flashed his hideous grin and jerked his head, "And that pretty fur cloak – I want that an' all." Tears pricked her eyes and she began shirking off the garment when she heard a yelp; the man was dragged back and away from her, his eyes wide and confused.

"What in Seven Hells?!" He bellowed and Eira's watery eyes met with those of Benjen Stark's.

The younger brother of Lord Eddard Stark eyed her a moment, puzzlement on his face. He abandoned his bewilderment a minute and turned to the pickpocket he had just saved her from who was lying on the ground with the black-clad crow's boot standing on his jerkin, pinning him in place and said grandly,

"Another one for the Wall? Or should I just kill you now?"

Eira watched wide-eyed as the man spat at the Stark's black boots and nodded his head and gave his ascent. Benjen nodded and turned to the other black clothed men at his side and muttered quietly, "Clap him. Take him to the Wall." The men nodded and hauled the pickpocket to his feet, a small crowd had gathered to watch, they were parted as the pickpocket was led away, his hands bound. Eira hugged her mantle closer and felt sick. She was so shaken she didn't notice Benjen holding out her stolen coin purse out to her; he nodded and said;

"I am sorry for that, miss." Eira took the purse and asked, her voice breaking with adrenalin,

"Does that happen often here?" The crow nodded his dark head, "Aye. More than I'd care to say..." He trailed off, his voice dying in his throat as he looked at her closely; his dark eyes widened slightly and he gently gripped the girl's arm and pulled her aside, away from the still gawping crowd. Eira tried to twist out of his grasp but the man held her and drew her into an alcove of one of the little shops and demanded with muted conviction;

"What are you doing here, my Lady?"

.*oOo*.

Explaining to Benjen Stark the predicament which she found herself in was not what Eira had had planned for that day. No, it was definitely not and she found herself looking away from him as she sipped her small ale; aware that his sharp black eyes were on her at all times as she spoke.

It turned out that she did not have the same knack for lying to crows which Septa Brynhild possessed and Benjen had already guessed as much from one look at her belly when she shed her mantle as they sat down in a darkened corner of the tavern which was decorated with hay, blood and sawdust. The Man of The Watch sighed and scrubbed a hand down his long face at the end of her tale and beat his hand on the table,

"God's Bones! Sending you to Mole's Town...What was Medger thinking?!" He spat and Eira shook her head, her eyes downcast and Benjen softened and leaned forward, his voice losing its edge, "Do you know how dangerous it is this far north, girl?" Eira met his eyes; her own had a hard glint,

"I do now." He chuckled mirthlessly and bobbed his head, "Aye, I'll bet you do..."

He licked his lips as he thought, looking out over the drunken merchants and dead-eyed whores before he flicked his gaze back at her; such a stark contrast to the decaying mob of Mole's Town; it was no wonder that the pickpocket marked her as a target, she did not look common at all. She looked every inch the little Lady and Benjen exhaled. Eira thought the dark-haired man looked very tired and then she remembered.

"I heard about your nephew."

"Aye, he's young but it's his decision if he wants to join the Watch..." Benjen replied absently, still looking away.

"What?" Eira frowned and the Stark peered back and then he closed his eyes and nodded understanding. "Oh, you mean Bran. He's not going to die; Maester Luwin says the worst has passed. He'll be fine when he wakes up...Well, I hope he is. For Cat's sake." He added quietly, almost like a prayer and Eira's frown deepened.

"Who joined the Watch?" She didn't know why she asked, it was fairly obvious before Benjen even answered, "Jon. I don't blame him; no bastard was ever denied a place on the Wall...He's young, though. I tried to talk him out of it..." Again, his voice faded and he shook his head, sweeping his tankard away; his eyes flinty as though he were annoyed at her changing the subject and he hissed in a hushed voice,

"Anyway. You need to get your things, gather your horses and get back south. Mole's Town is no place for a Lady...Your father will take you back I'm sure."

"My father," Eira began with a bite in her tone, making the crow eye her.

"Thinks me a whore. A disgrace and a humiliation to his House. Mole's Town is perfect for one such as me...or one who is held in so high a regard, don't you think?" Her voice had an unsavoury bitterness laced within it and she thought she saw amusement twinkle in Benjen's eyes; she looked away, ashamed of her manners and mumbled sheepishly, "Forgive me, Master Stark...I-I just don't really know what to do."

"It's alright, little lady; but..." He leaned in further still and said seriously, "winter is coming, it's only gonna' get colder; you should take yourself someplace else. I can arrange someone to take you back south, to Winterfell maybe? Robb is Lord there while my brother is away; he can put you up...Catelyn could use the company. What, with Sansa and Arya gone away south with their father."

"No." Eira shook her fiery head. "My father may have lost all respect for me that is enough of a blow to my own honour; I won't disobey him on top of that. He bid me to leave and I did. I will stay." Benjen's eyes crawled down and rested on her loosely tied stomacher; they remained there as he said plaintively;

"You would raise your bastard here in Mole's Town...it is no life for a young mother and her child."

"If my bastard is a boy maybe my ambition will be for him on the Wall." She quipped bitterly and Benjen looked at her, "Nevertheless, I have made my choice...Thank you for intervening with that man, ser. I should be on my way. Septa Brynhild will be worrying."

She got up warily, her hand on her tummy and stepped around the table gingerly. Benjen stood too and held up her mantle for her and she thanked him, taking the garment and she flung it around her shoulders. She was about to sidle past him when he reached out and stopped her, "Wait. Wait..." He said as though a thought had struck him; Eira stopped and peered round; Benjen's face was creased in thought and he was silent a moment.

"If I can't get you to leave here...Then maybe there is something I can do."

"Like what?" Eira asked shortly, not unkindly and Benjen blew out a breath; the fur at his chest ruffling slightly.

"The Wall...is three hundred miles long and a lot of the castles up there are unmanned, but you could stay there. It's better than Mole's Town – if a little colder – but at least you wouldn't have to worry about pickpockets and tavern brawls..." He thought again, his brow positively furrowed and Eira felt her chest hurt.

She did not want to stay in Mole's Town. It was like he was offering her a lifeline.

"If you were inconspicuous; quiet and left as soon as your bastard's born you could come back here...Eira, believe me when I say; Mole's Town is not an ideal place to even raise a child, let alone bear one."

"But...wouldn't you get in trouble? What about the men? Aren't some of them...rapers?"

Benjen nodded, "Aye that is why you would have to be like a shadow. But it's better than Mole's Town by a league; you have a companion – you wouldn't be alone up there and I would feel better if you did."

The girl suddenly became suspicious and backed away cautiously, "Why do you care?"

"Because your father is a good friend of my brother's, one of his own bannermen and it would be shameful of me as man to let you rear a child here, girl." He replied simply and frankly; Eira's heart raced;

She knew there were a lot of castles up on the Wall...Could she move into one? She and Septa Brynhild did not need much space and if she had Benjen keeping an eye out for her, could it hurt to have a friend out here?

Eira couldn't argue, she could not do this alone and she nodded.

"Alright...I'll do it. I'll talk to Septa Brynhild."