"They hate you because you act like you're better than they are."
Greta's dirge fanned the fire. A hundred shadowy figures stood round the blaze. Nyssa passed her baby sister into Alger's skinny arms and stepped free of the circle of mourners, towards the pyre. She reached out her hands, to touch her mother's face one last time.
"No girl," her father hissed, pulling her away from the pyre by the back of her tunic. He folded his strong arms around her and held her fast, until the baby began to wail.
"Give her here," he said to Alger.
"Let me," Nyssa said, holding open her arms. Alger handed over the squealing and bundled babe. Kissed by fire, she thought, looking from the infant's tuft of red, downy hair to the flames now licking at her mother's long, red tresses. She touched the baby's milky cheek.
"What will you call her?"her father asked.
"Illa," Nyssa said. She looked to her mother for approval, but could no longer see the woman's face through the smoke. The wolves joined Greta's dirge. Nyssa moved closer to her father.
"They won't come near the fire," he assured her.
All memories are dreams. At least, that's what Greta told her once. Or were all dreams memories? Nyssa couldn't remember. She smashed the lumps in her porridge against the bottom of the wooden bowl.
At the other end of the long table, three servant girls were finishing up their own suppers. They glanced over at her from time to time, but said nothing to her. None of them ever did. Nyssa overheard the other servants whispering about her in the halls. She ignored them. It didn't matter that they were frightened of her or that they hated her. You'll be gone as soon as the red-headed lady returns, she told herself.
Still, their chatter was too much for her this morning. Two weeks she'd been in this great, stone castle. She'd even begun to hate how warm it was. All day, and most nights, she stood outside of the fallen child's room, and had not dared to go inside again. That did not stop the three-eyed crow from visiting her, though. Often he perched on her shoulder while she slept. This morning, as she'd dressed, Nyssa noticed three, fine scratches on her shoulder that hadn't been there the night before. By noon, they'd vanished.
One of the servant girl's laughed, high and shrill, before she was shushed by the others. Nyssa stood. Staring straight ahead, she strode past them.
"You can't take that out of the hall," one of the girl's said. Nyssa looked back at her. A young little, thing with straw for hair and buttons for eyes, but she was braver than her friends, who ducked their heads under Nyssa's glare.
"The bowl," the straw-haierd girl said. Nyssa looked down at her half-eaten porridge. Such strange rules they had this side of the Wall. Who ever heard of a person not being able to eat wherever they pleased? Without a word, Nyssa turned around and left the servant's hall, with the bowl cradled in her hands.
She finished her supper outside and watched the boy-lord play with swords. Once it grew dark, he called an end to the training session. His men gathered the swords. Long after they'd finished and gone, he remained in the yard.
Nyssa didn't understand this place or its people. She left the bowl in the grass and returned to her post outside of the fallen child's room.
Robb yawned over the account books. His arms ached from training this evening. Of late, he often found himself distracted in the yard and he suffered the bruises for it. He couldn't remember all that Ser Roderick had taught him, while his mind constantly wandered to his mother and Bran. Where was Catelyn now? Had she and Ser Roderick made it safely to White Harbor? There'd been no ravens. Robb had not expected any, but he worried nonetheless.
The candles were getting low. He made a note to have more brought up in the morning. His days were long and his nights longer. Across the table, Maester Luwin was hunched over a roll of parchment, so long that it touched the floor. The old man didn't seem in the least bit tired. Not for the first time, Robb was shamed by the maester's diligence. But he could not continue working this night. His eyes burned with fatigue.
"We can finish this tomorrow," Robb said, pushing aside the papers in front of him.
"As you wish, my lord," Maester Luwin said. He looked up at the young lord. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes looked more sunken than ever. "There is one more matter I'd like to discuss, though."
Of course there is, Robb thought, but nodded for the maester to continue.
"It's the wildling, my lord. Some of the servants have begun to complain. They do not feel comfortable sharing quarters with her," Maester Luwin said.
"Where would they have me put her?" Robb snapped. "One of the guest rooms? Perhaps the one the King stayed in?"
Maester Luwin's expression stayed unchanged. He gave the young lord's temper a moment to cool before speaking again.
"Perhaps she could house with the guards," he suggested. Robb was tempted. He would not have to worry about her as much if she were put with the guards.
"No," he said. "I wouldn't risk having a woman in with them. She'll have to move into the main castle. Have a room prepared on the east wing." It was the farthest place in the main castle from his and Bran's rooms. Not that distance mattered.
"Yes, my lord," Maester Luwin said. He gathered his parchments and swept out of the room. Robb was too tired to move from his chair to the bed. He rested his head on the table instead and soon was asleep.
Robb found the wildling outside of his brother's room.
"Leave us for a moment," he said to the guard. Nyssa was sitting on the floor, with her back to Bran's door and her knees cradled to her chest. Once he could no longer hear the guard's footsteps, he addressed her.
"I've decided to put you in a different room," he said.
"Is it about the bowl?" she asked, getting to her feet. "You're going to lock me back up for that?"
Robb didn't have a clue what she was talking about.
"Bloody hell," she went on, "you southerners have got some stick up your ass. If it's such a big deal, I won't take anymore of your dishes out of the hall."
"I don't care about that," Robb said. He was sorely tempted to laugh, but feared she might kill him if he did. "You scare the servants."
"Do I?" Nyssa shrugged. She eyed the boy-lord. He was growing out a beard, but so far it was less than impressive and made him look even younger than he already did. I scare him, too, she thought, when he looked away first.
"Someone will show you to your new room," Robb said. "It's in the main castle."
"Thanks ever so much, my lord."
He cringed at the way she said my lord, how she always said it that way, mockingly. His father had taught him to never hit a woman, but when she called him my lord, he found it difficult to follow his father's teachings.
"Is that all you wanted?" she asked.
"No," he said, for dignity's sake. She didn't get to decide when their conversation was over.
"Well?" Nyssa said.
"Don't take any more bowls out of the hall." He couldn't think of anything else. Feeling like an idiot, he turned before she could see the flush creeping up his neck.
The guard's name was Alfwald.
"But most folks just call me Wald," he'd told her on the day of their meeting. Nyssa liked it best when he stood with her outside the fallen child's room. He didn't seem frightened of her, like the servants, and he didn't glare at her as the guards did. Mostly he just talked about things she didn't understand, but she found his rambling oddly soothing. It was how Illa had talked. On and on, without pausing for breath.
Sometimes she listened to him, but now was not one of those times.
"You have to wait for the quince to cool, then add your milk and sugar. Else wise the bread gets all-"
"How long does it take to get to the king's castle?" Nyssa interrupted. Wald looked surprised. In all the hours they'd spent together, she'd never once spoken to him.
"Why you want to know that?" he asked.
"Just do," she said. No one was supposed to know where the red-headed lady had gone.
"Well, I guess it depends on how you travel," Wald said. "A month by road, three weeks by sea."
Nyssa assumed the lady would have taken the faster route. It had been three weeks since her departure. Halfway there, Nyssa thought. Hopefully, the red-headed woman would not stay long in the king's city.
"You aren't planning on going off to King's Landing?" Wald asked.
"Maybe," she lied.
"I'd pay to see that," the guard chuckled. "A wildling bitch in the capital. Them southron lords would piss themselves. Probably be to warm for you up there and-"
Nyssa stopped listening to him when the straw-haired servant girl, Hild she was called, rounded the corner. As she approached, she glared at the wildling woman over the bundle of bedding in her arms. Nyssa leaned against the door of the fallen child's room.
"Let my by," Hild said.
Nyssa said nothing. Nor did she move. She simply stared at the straw-haired girl.
"I said move." Hild's voice shook. She's not as brave as she thinks, Nyssa thought.
"Go on, budge over," Wald said. Nyssa stepped aside, but as Hild pushed past her, into the room, she growled in the girl's ear. Startled, Hild stumbled. The bedding spilled out onto the floor. Quickly, she bent down, scooped up the linens, and hurried into the room. The door slammed on Nyssa's face, but the wildling smiled, rather pleased with herself. She'd never seen someone's ears go as red as the straw-haired servant's just had.
"Why'd you go and do that?" Wald asked.
"Might as well be what she thinks I am," Nyssa said, leaning against the wall once more. The stone warmed her back.
"And what's that?"
"A feral dog."
Wald laughed again. She wasn't offended. It didn't matter what the southerners thought of her. Soon, she'd be gone, and they could all rest easy again.
There was a shriek from inside the room. Before either she or Wald reached the door, Hild tumbled out into the corridor, her eyes wide. The boy's dead, Nyssa thought, upon seeing the servant girl's pale, stricken face.
"What is it?" she snapped.
"He...he's awake," Hild stammered.
"Fetch the maester," Wald ordered. When the girl didn't move, he barked, "Go!" Hild shook her head, blinked at them for a second, and then sprinted down the corridor. Wald followed close behind her, no doubt to find the boy-lord. Nyssa, completely forgotten, stood where they'd left her.
Hild had left the door open in her haste. Yet again, Nyssa found herself drawn to the room. The fallen child was awake. But who was he? Friend of the three-eyed crow, the Child had said. The words meant nothing to her. It doesn't matter, she told herself. The boy's no concern of yours.
Even as she thought the words, she stepped into the room. The boy was propped up in bed. His bruises had mostly healed. His face was no longer swollen. Nyssa walked to the foot of the bed. His eyes followed her every step. Remembering what had happened when she'd touched him, she dared not get too close.
"I won't hurt you," she said. The fallen child did not look frightened, though.
"I know," he said. "I dreamt about you." His brow furrowed. Nyssa thought he looked older than he was. Older than his boy-lord brother even.
"The crow told me you'd be here," the fallen child continued. "He said you're meant to help me. Is it true?"
Nyssa heard voices in the hall. She glanced back at the door just as the boy-lord burst through, with the old healer and Wald on his heels. Robb's eyes went first to Bran, then to the wildling, and finally back to his brother. He'd punish Wald later for leaving the woman on her own. For now, all that mattered was that Bran was awake. He hadn't dared to believe it until now.
Before any of them could speak, one of the direwolves broke past the men, still gathered in the doorway, and leapt onto the bed. The pup licked the boy's face. The fallen child smiled. He no longer looked older than his years.
"Summer," he said, grinning up at Robb. "His name's Summer."
"Strange name for a beast of the north," Nyssa muttered, backing away from the bed. She did not like seeing the boy with his wolf. The prophecy rang in her ears. As did the boy's question, left unanswered. He said you're meant to help me. Is that true?
"Leave us," the boy-lord ordered. For once, Nyssa was glad to obey him.
