Hello again my friends! A bit late, but I still managed to get another chapter written in about a month! I would've gotten it done sooner if nursing school hadn't sucked the energy out of me. Anyway, I want to thank all of you profusely for your continued support. The follows, favorites, and especially the reviews always bring a grin to my face. I specifically want to thank the lovely Sparky She-Demon for some great feedback on this chapter and my wonderful friend Owsla for her endless support, inspiration, and assistance. Both are amazing authors, and you should check out their profiles if you haven't already! Particularly for all of you that love Bolton fics, Owsla's story Shrouded Passions is an excellent read. I highly recommend it.;)

Now, enough of my babbling, and please enjoy! Remember to leave a review!;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones.


Chapter 6: Close Encounters

Hazelyn's hands shook as she shed the tattered gown hanging from her body and replaced it with one of plain dresses packed away in her satchel. She stiffly ran her fingers through her dark, tangled hair and then sat on the bed, staring at the wall as she tried to push down her frantic emotions. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, willing her racing heart to slow.

After she had snapped yet again (That damn bastard haunted her even now!)and struck the man that was to be her first client, she'd been sure she was ruined. Ros would let the man beat her and then cast her out on the street for causing trouble, just as Rina had. And yet, Robb Stark had been there once again. He'd stepped in and defended her against a man twice his size and then covered her with his own cloak. Even Lord Greyjoy had intervened, probably for his friend's sake rather than hers, but still. Then Ros had defended her, even after the inconvenience she'd caused.

Lord Robb had brought her and her possessions to the keep, his arm slung around her the whole way. He had set her in an empty servant room and had left her with the promise that he'd send his mother to speak to her about a job. She hadn't ever seen so much kindness from strangers in her whole life, certainly not for a fool like her. She couldn't even process the lingering panic, shame, joy, and relief coursing through her, so she breathed deeply and tried to compose herself before Lady Stark came.

She rose slowly off the bed and walked over to the small shuttered window in the corner of the room. She unhooked the latch and flung the shutters open, sending a torrent a bright sunlight and crisp northern air rushing into the chamber. She tentatively leaned her head out and took a deep breath, letting the cold air wash over her and the distant sounds of busy courtyards echo in her ears. The wind wafted a scent of sawdust and pine to her nose. She could almost imagine herself back at the Dreadfort, hanging out the window of her own chambers on peaceful afternoon before all the chaos that had followed her brother's death.

The sound of the door opening caused her to turn back towards the small room's entrance. Lady Catelyn Stark, an elegant woman with eyes as blue as her son's and sleek auburn hair, stood in the doorway and studied her with an even gaze that gave away nothing. Immediately, Hazelyn attempted to curtsy, but her shaky legs gave out and caused her to stumble.

"My lady," she murmured as she tried to push herself up and curtsy again, but a firm hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her upright. "There's no need for that," Lady Stark said in an firm, but not unkind tone. Her blue eyes continued to study Hazelyn, sweeping over her face and dress.

"Yes, my lady," the young woman muttered in reply. She straightened her back to stand as tall as she could, but cast her gray eyes towards the ground, unable to meet the Stark matriarch's intense gaze.

"My son told me quite a tale," Lady Stark said. "He said my ward upset you at the tavern last week, that you pulled a knife on him and lost your job. This forced you to go to the brothel?" Hazelyn nodded slightly. Lady Stark's brow furrowed a little and a frown crossed her face. "He told me that when he saw you there, it was only your first time with a man, and that the man attacked you. Is that true?"

"Yes, my lady," Hazelyn replied quietly, daring to look up slightly at the older woman's face. Lady Stark gazed down at her with a slightly hardened expression and faint frown, crossing her arms over her chest. "Robb also asked me to give you a job in our home. He claimed you weren't violent. Did you intend to harm my ward when you drew that knife? I can't hire someone who could hurt my family."

A surge of desperation gave Hazelyn the courage to snap her head up towards to Lady of Winterfell and look her straight in the eye. "I would never harm a soul, my lady," she said in a voice far more confidant then she felt. Her gray eyes met blue and they stared at each other for a moment before Lady Stark sighed. Her eyes softened and her posture relaxed as she rubbed her forehead tiredly.

"My ward has not always treated woman appropriately. I am sorry that he caused you to fall into such circumstances." She looked at Hazelyn thoughtfully. "I think I could manage to find you a position somewhere in the castle. What are your skills?"

"I can clean, my lady," Hazelyn said in a steady voice, hope rising in her chest. "I can also sew and cook."

Lady Stark cast her gaze out the open window, her dark red hair shimmering in the sun as she pursed her lips in thought. "We already have enough kitchen staff, but I suppose it couldn't hurt to have another laundry maid. Could you do that?" She replied a moment later.

"Yes, my lady." Hazelyn nodded enthusiastically.

"Very well, I'll send someone to settle you in then," Lady Stark promptly finished. "Gather your things an they'll be along shortly." Hazelyn bobbed into a much steadier curtsy and Lady Stark nodded in acknowledgment as she began to make her way to the door. Just as she was about to pass into the hall Hazelyn looked up at her and said, "Thank you, my lady, truly." The older noble woman cast her bright blue eyes over the young woman one last time and said with the barest hint of a smile, "Your welcome and welcome to Winterfell."


Hazelyn scrubbed the floor with vigor as she tried to remove an unusually stubborn stain. She grit her teeth as she pressed down on the brush hard. She sighed in relief when the dirt finally gave way to the soap and water. She sat up and used the back of her hand to wipe away the sweat beading on her forehead. Her eyes swept across the expanse of the great hall, and she smiled as sunlight pouring through the windows created a golden gleam on the newly cleaned and polished floor.

In the weeks since she had arrived at Winterfell, Hazelyn had fallen into a routine with her new job. She spent her days running around the castle collecting dirty linens, washing them, and then delivering dry and folded clothes back to their respective owners. Since she had proven her skill with a needle, she had gotten to work with the seamstress as well. She spent those days mending tears and repairing holes in clothing, quite similar to the needlework she had done at the Dreadfort. All in all, it was not a horrible job. Her bed was comfortable, the food was excellent, and she had a bit more personal time than she had had at the tavern.

Unfortunately, laundry maids were often called in to help with larger cleaning projects, such as preparing the great hall for a feast. Hazelyn cringed as she looked down at her aching hands, the skin even more red and chaffed than before. She thanked the gods that scrubbing wasn't a regular duty for her. Standing up with a sigh, she dragged her heavy bucket of water to a different part of the floor. The liquid sloshed over the rim and splattered as she put down the pail. With a huff, she lowered herself back down to her hands and knees to scrub away more grime.

While the other maids working in the hall talked to each other, Hazelyn remained solely focused on her job, eager to finish her task and to be dismissed for the evening. She worked quickly and made it all the way to the hall's threshold. She had just scrubbed away the last bit of grime from her assigned section when the echoes of heavy boots and masculine voices overtook the high pitch chatter of her fellow maids.

Hazelyn looked up to see the heir of Winterfell, Robb Stark, and his family's ward, Theon Greyjoy, coming in from the tilt yard with mud on their boots and laughing smiles on their faces. And they were heading directly towards the section of the floor she had just cleaned. Hazelyn prayed they would notice the women scrubbing the floors and walk around. Yet the young men continued to trample towards the hall's entrance, leaving muddy boot prints in their wake. Hazelyn exhaled in relief when, at the last moment, the Stark lordling noticed her at kneeling at threshold and put a hand out to stop his friend right before his dirty boot landed on Hazelyn's gleaming floor.

"What is it?" Theon asked with a frown. Robb's blue eyes glanced down towards Hazelyn as he said, "The servants are cleaning the hall for the evening feast. Let's just go around so we don't get in their way."

Theon followed his friend's gaze to Hazelyn and then rolled his eyes. "They're servants. It's their job to clean, Robb." He gestured his thumb towards Hazelyn. "Especially would be whore should be happy she's scrubbing floors. Otherwise, she'd still be spreading her legs in the brothel ."

Hazelyn's eyes widened as several other maids turned their heads and looked at her. Her cheeks flushed and she stared at the ground. With a small yawn Theon stretched his arms behind his back. "I'm tired, Robb. We shouldn't have to walk all the way around the keep just for their sake." He brushed off the younger man's hand carelessly and walked right past Hazelyn, leaving a fresh trail of muck behind him. Hazelyn's glared daggers at the iron born's back until he disappeared through the room's huge doors. She then spotted the other maids gathering up their buckets and brushes, having just finished their parts of the hall, and grit her teeth as she realized he had only walked across her area.

The young woman bit her tongue to keep a nasty stream of insults from escaping her mouth. She dragged her bucket over toward the line of muddy boot prints and dropped it with a hard thud. She dropped to her hands and knees and slammed her brush to floor. She began to scrub furiously at the grime but paused when she heard the sloshing of water next to her. Thinking one of the other maids had come over to help, Hazelyn glanced over her shoulder and said warmly, "Thank you for staying, it's really kind of..." She stopped short when she saw the future Lord of Winterfell with a brush and bucket on the floor beside of her.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "I beg your pardon my lord, but what are you doing?" She questioned, turning entirely around to meet his gaze.

Robb looked at her and sighed, "Cleaning up my friend's mess again, it would seem."

"My lord, please, you don't need to-"

"No, let me help you. It isn't much," The lordling interrupted Hazelyn with a creased smile and raised brow.

Hazelyn raised a brow in return and bit her lip to keep from smiling back. "Very well, my lord. Whatever you wish." A few minutes of silent scrubbing later, the mud was gone. Hazelyn frowned as she gathered her bucket and then turned to look at the lord that stood beside her.

"Why did you do that?" She asked, her fingers flexing around the handle of her bucket.

"It was the honorable thing to do," Robb replied with a small shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hazelyn bit her lip but couldn't stop a short laugh from slipping out . "I wasn't aware honor required great lords and knights help charwoman clean the floors."

Robb smirked as he reached and grabbed the bucket from her hand. "A Lord does whatever's required to help a lady."

The mirthful light in Hazelyn's eyes faded and her posture tensed. Frozen in momentary terror, she glanced over the young lord's face as his smirk dropped into a confused frown. Had she done something to give herself away? Her heart pounded as she looked into his blue eyes but it slowed a bit when all she saw was confusion. She then firmly set a cold mask on her face to conceal her anxiety. "I'm no lady, my lord." She reach out took both pails from his hands. She bobbed in a small curtsy and said, "Thank you again for the help my lord, but you needn't trouble yourself on my behalf." She then turned and walked away as quickly as she could, not daring to look back at the young man's incredulous expression.


Catelyn's mind raced as she hustled towards the great hall to check on the preparations for tonight's feast. Lord Umber was set to arrive with a considerable party in just a couple of hours, and there was still a thousand things she had to get done. She prayed to the gods that the servants had managed to clean the hall well enough, because she knew after several days of feasting with the boisterous Umbers, even a shining hall would be a nightmare to clean.

She sighed in relief when she reached the entrance to the great hall and saw the gleaming floors. Yet, right as she was about to stroll in to inspect the ongoing preparations, a rather interesting sight caught her eye. Her eldest son Robb was down on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a cleaning maid.

She watched in silence from the side passage as they finished their task and rose. She realized as the girl began talking to her son that she was the maid Robb had convinced her to hire several weeks ago. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she saw her son smile in amusement and the girl laughing lightly in return. She crossed her arms as her son quipped something and snatched girl's bucket. When the girl tensed, snatched the bucket back, and rushed off, Catelyn couldn't help but feel a bit of relief. Nothing good could from Robb taking up a dalliance with a common girl like her. She didn't want her honorable son to become a scoundrel like her ward or for her son's future bride to have to deal with the pain of raising her husband's bastard child like she had.

She shook her head as she watched her bewildered son stare after the girl before stalking frustrated from the hall. Luckily the little encounter has come to not, but she would have to keep a closer eye on her son and this maid in the weeks to come.


In the following couple of days, Hazelyn didn't run into any member of the Stark family as she attended to her duties around the castle, which she supposed was for the best. Even though she had enjoyed her brief conversations with the attractive Stark heir, he'd said things that hit too close to the mark a number of times. She had realized that the more time she spent around the noble family, she increased the likelihood of her real identity being discovered. She had given up too much already to let that happen.

So she contentedly devoted herself to her duties, keeping her head down and avoiding direct contact with the noble family as much as she could. Though her job did require her to sometimes visit the chambers of the Stark family when they were not present, so she shouldn't have been surprised when she encountered another one of them.

On duller summer days, the blue sky always hid under a low blanket of thick gray clouds. The wind would whip, and the air held a distinct chill. While most preferred the warmth of the sun, Hazelyn enjoyed such colder days. She rushed towards one of the younger Stark boy's rooms to remake the bed so she could get off for the day and enjoy the refreshingly cooler weather. She waltzed up to the chamber door and rapped on it to make sure no one was inside. To her surprise she heard a young voice call out, "Who is it?"

She opened the door a crack and called in softly, "I've come to change your bed, my lord, if you will allow me."

"You may," the young voice called back, so Hazelyn silently slipped in. She cast her eyes briefly over to little lord that granted her entrance, meeting the doleful brown eyes of Brandon Stark. He sat at a desk with a book of laid out in front of him. Hazelyn gave him a small smile and bobbed slightly in respect before turning away to complete her task. She approached the bed and quietly pulled off the sheets and coverlet. She moved gingerly to not disturb the little lord's studies. Silence settled over the room, only disturbed by the soft rustling of the sheets.

Hazelyn had almost finished when that silence was broken by a frustrated shout and bang on the desk. She looked up startled to see the young Stark boy groaning in frustration as he stared hatefully at his book.

A frown creased Hazelyn's lips. Her heart ached at seeing the young boy so unhappy. She'd caught glimpses of Bran Stark playing around the keep and he'd reminded her so much of her friend Darren's little brother. Boys were meant to feel joy. Plenty of anger and pain awaited them when they were older. It wasn't her place, but Hazelyn felt she had to do something. She placed the dirty sheets she was holding onto the bed and walked carefully up to the young boy's desk, peering over his shoulder to see what subject was causing him such vexation. She cringed when she saw the colorful pictures of many house sigils lining the pages.

"Is everything alright, my lord?" She tentatively inquired, trying to offer a disarming smile when the boy looked at her in surprise. He lowered his guard when he saw she had a friendly demeanor. An angry frown crossed his face as he returned his heated gaze to his book. "No," He said stubbornly.

"And why would that be?" Hazelyn had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling at the boy's adorable pout. "You seem to in good health, and it's a fine day outside. Why would a boy such as you be so unhappy?"

The boy of eight name days looked at her hesitantly for a moment, but the faint smile playing on her lips and her gentle voice coaxed him to open up. "Maester Luwin and Mother said I had to memorize five of these stupid sigils before I can go out and play," he grumbled as he crossed his arms. He looked longingly out his window at the gray and green landscape beyond.

Hazelyn shifted her gaze back to the pages of the book and ran her fingers over the many pictures. "Hmm...Those do look pretty difficult to memorize..." She said thoughtfully. She softly smiled as she recalled how she had learned her sigils. The memories of Elena's clever instruction made her laugh. "Do you like stories, my lord?"

"What?" Bran asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Do you like stories?" Hazelyn asked again in a cheerful tone.

"Yes, but what has that got to do with these?" Bran cast a look of disdain at his book.

"Well," Hazelyn began as she looked at the book, noting it was open to the major Northern houses. "Why don't you make a story for your sigils? Try to imagine each of them a character," She pointed at the dire wolf, the sigil of the young boy's own family. "With a name," she shifted her finger to his house name. "And something they say in the story." She traced over to the house words.

The boy looked at her with a hopeful, but pleading expression. "That doesn't sound too bad, but I've never come up with a story on my own before." He ducked his head bashfully.
"I'm not good at making things up."

Hazelyn's small smile grew into a full grin. "It's really very easy and quite fun. Here, I'll show you." She gently grasped Bran's hand.

She laid his finger on the page and traced it from house to house as she spoke. "The great dire wolf named Stark saw the white sun Katstark, who called himself the sun of winter, rising over the horizon. The dire wolf realized winter was coming, and he had to warn the other creatures of the North. He called them all to a great meeting. Once they all arrived, they all spoke their piece. Mormont, the black bear said 'Hear we stand Stark. What must you say?' Stark replied, 'Winter is coming. You must prepare.' Ryswell, the red horse, said, 'You cannot command us! We are wild and free!' "

Hazelyn whinnied like one of her grandfather's uppity steeds, causing Bran to break in a gale of laughter. She giggled, but her smile faded when she moved his hand to the next house. She swallowed hard, glaring down at the Bolton sigil. "But then a horrible monster, the red flayed man named Bolton, stepped forth and stated-

"Bran?"

Lady Stark's voice caused Hazelyn to jump away from the young lord. She dropped her gaze to the floor and sank into a deep curtsy as Lady Catelyn walked into the room, her brow raised high at the scene before her. "What's this?" She asked as she put her hand on her hip.

"I.." Hazelyn stuttered, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. "My lady... I-"

"She was helping me memorize my house sigils, Mother," Bran brightly interrupted with a smile. "She started to tell me story to go with house names and words! Do want to hear it?"

Lady Stark reciprocated her son's smile with a gentle one of her own. "In a moment Bran," she replied. She then turned her curious blue eyes upon Hazelyn. "Do you know how to read, child?"

Hazelyn looked up tentatively and nodded. "Yes, my lady."

"Well, that's a fine skill for a serving girl to have," Lady Stark replied gently, motioning for Hazelyn to stand up straight. Hazelyn raised her head and looked at the older woman shyly. Lady Stark gave her a faint smile and nodded. "Thank you for assisting my son."

"Of course, my lady," Hazelyn murmured, desperately glancing towards the door. To her relief, Lady Stark causally waved her away and said, "You may go."

Hazelyn bobbed quickly to her employer. "Thank you, my lady," she murmured. She then rushed to gather the dirty sheets on the bed. As she passed Bran, she glanced at him softly and said, "Good day, my lord." She saw Bran cast her a grin as she hurried out the door. Lady Stark stared after her with a curious expression until her son reclaimed her attention.


Another thunk echoed throughout the empty courtyard as Jon hit the dummy again with his practice sword. He grunted as he barraged the target with several more hard strikes. Out of breath, he took a step back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He stood silently in the cold summer night as he listened to the distant sounds of lively music and raucous laughter coming from the great hall.

Tonight was the last in a series of feasts the Starks were hosting during Lord Greatjon Umber's visit to Winterfell. The Umbers were rougher than the average Northerner, but they had a good sense of humor and loved a good time. So, Lord Stark had decided there was no better time to discuss business with Lord Umber than when the music rang loudly and the ale flowed freely. Thus, every night of Lord Umber's visit had been a festive occasion of song and drink. And Jon had not been permitted to come to any of them. Lady Stark had banished him from the hall to take his meals in his room. She said it would be inappropriate and offensive to let her husband's bastard attend the feast.

Jon shouted in frustration and hit the practice dummy once more. He knew he was lucky. Most lords wouldn't have taken in their bastards like his father had with him, but Jon still had to deal with some of the consequences of his baseborn birth. He saw the way many people looked at him, treating him kindly to his face out of respect for his father, but glaring and whispering insults when he turned his back. Lady Stark had never tried to veil her disdain for him. From the time he was a young child, all he could remember was her sharp rebukes and icy stares.

After years of never knowing a mother's love, watching his legitimate brother best him in everything, and receiving hatred from the world only for the way he was born, his bastardy had become a very sensitive subject for him. So at times like this, when he was ostracized and so blatantly reminded what he truly was, he couldn't help but feel shame for existing and anger at the world.

He sighed and stared up at the black sky, the small stars shining brightly in the darkness. He needed some peace and knew there was only one place he could find it. He put away his practice sword and made his way to the Godswood.

Jon began to feel at ease as walked among the trees of sacred wood. A calm stillness hung in the air, and the moon had cast everything in soft shades of silver and shadow. A serene smile crossed his face as he made his way to the heart tree in the center of the small forest.

The massive heart tree of Winterfell had stood for 8,000 years. Countless generations of Starks had prayed to and wed before it. As Jon approached, he felt the strong presence of the old gods calling to him. He walked around the enormous weirwood so he could pray before the heart tree's sacred face, but paused when he saw someone already knelt before it.

The young woman's features were hidden in the shadow cast by the tree. She was on her knees with her head bowed in reverence. She didn't move an inch as Jon approached. Jon wasn't too surprised to find someone else here. Father allowed the castle staff to pray before the great weirwood whenever they wished. Jon walked over and knelt next to her. He maintained a respectable distance between them, but was close enough to see her face clearly.

His eyes widened when he recognized the former tavern maid that had caused his brother frustration lately. Robb had told him about seeing the girl at the market, saving her from the brothel, and meeting her again in the great hall. Apparently the friendly maid had turned cold on him for no reason and had run off. Jon didn't understand why Robb had been acting so irritable over a simple maid that he barely knew. He supposed it had something to do with 'saving' a pretty girl who afterward rejected him.

The girl wore a worried expression, her eyes tightly shut and brow furrowed. Her pained look brought a memory back to Jon's mind. The girl had called Theon 'Snow' that night she had pulled a knife on him. She had seemed to be in a nightmare rather than a tavern. He felt sad for her and figured maybe he could help and get an explanation of her strange behavior so his irritable brother would start acting normal again.

"Miss," He gently enquired. The girl's gray eyes snapped open. She looked around in alarm before her gaze settled on Jon.

"Yes?" She asked with slight irritation in her tone.

"It's Hazel, correct?"

The young woman raised a brow at him as she nodded.

Jon raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry if I interrupted a prayer. I just wanted to have a quick word. I can wait until you're finished if you like."

Hazel stared at him in vexation as she stood up and faced him. "Well, my lord, my prayer has already been interrupted, so you might as well make your request now. What could I do for you?" She asked in a saccharine tone.

"Have you settled in well?" Jon inquired.

Hazel pursed her lips in annoyance and nodded stiffly. "Yes, I have my lord." She fiddled with her skirt and glanced up at the moon high in the sky. "I mean no disrespect, my lord, but it's late, and I need to get some sleep before my duties in the morning."

Jon held out a hand as she turned from him, "Please, I only have a few questions to ask."

Hazel sighed deeply and bit her lip before replying, "Very well, my lord." She looked at him expectantly, crossing her arms firmly.

"At the tavern," Jon began cautiously, "Why did you call Theon Greyjoy 'Snow'?"

Hazel's body tensed up and her eyes widened. "Pardon?"

"You called him Snow, when you attacked him," Jon reiterated.

Hazel's expression shifted from horrified shock to defensive anger. Jon knew the look and feeling too well, as he too had often held it when others jeered at him for being a bastard.

Hazel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Maybe I thought he was a bastard," she snapped.

Jon pressed on with a light, careful tone. "No, it didn't seem that way. It was if you were not-"

"Do you know why I thought him a bastard?" Hazel hissed.

"No. I.."

"Because only a Snow would act like that. All bastards are vile. Rejected by both their parents and the world, why wouldn't they be?"

Jon gazed at her in shock, but his own defensive anger quickly replaced it. He frowned at her with a lowered brow. "It seemed as if you were not speaking to Theon."

Hazel's features darkened. "Maybe I thought I was speaking to you, bastard," she replied in a quiet, cold voice. She fixed her eyes upon Jon, meeting his gaze with a chilling stare. With a frustrated sigh she then stalked off into the shadows. Jon stood alone, still shocked at the girl's cutting insults. Also, he could have sworn that her eyes flickered to a shade of deep crystal blue when she glared at him and that the moment he saw it, a bitter cold had swept over him.


That's all folks! Until next time, stay amazing, stay warm, and leave a review! I love to hear your lovely opinions whether positive, negative, or anywhere in between! :)