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The Twins. Present. Day Five.

From the moment I discovered that she was pregnant, I had been living with the constant fear that motherhood would change Israel. I knew so many people who had changed because of it.

Israel has more of her father in her than most people would believe. Like Walder, she can drink. She never shows it, but she can. Also like Walder, she can match wits with the sharpest of men. Also like Walder, she's sneaky. She acts sweet. She smiles. She charms. She laughs. But really she's easily one of the most devious people in the North—quite possibly in Westeros. If she had higher aspirations, she'd have been damn dangerous. But she doesn't—I wish people could see that. All she wants is peace of mind.

They say a sharp eagle never shows her claws. I'm half inclined to believe that whoever said that must clearly have meant Israel Frey specifically. But that's why her pending motherhood frightened me. I was worried that once she had a child, she'd be different.

I was wrong. Oh, was I wrong.

Israel Frey—again demonstrating her similarity to her father—is a very strong supporter of the theory that states 'what cannot kill you makes you stronger', almost to the point where it sometimes seems as if she's asking the world to try and kill Ned.

Except in my case. In my case, she supports the theory 'what doesn't kill you disappoints me'. It works for us.

"Don't do that," she hisses at me as I chuckle.

She really hates when I pop up around her like that. If we were in Winterfell she'd have thrown something at me. But she's more relaxed here. I have to schedule the girl a vacation here every so often. It does her good.

"I thought we had a deal," I say. "We keep Ned away from your father."

And I tilt my chin to Walder, who sits by the window with Ned on his lap, drawing the face of the hideous hog that he almost died hunting nearly forty years ago. The picture is so ugly it could scare a small child. Like my baby son. Ned is frozen in shock. His entire fist is in his mouth and his eyes are huge as he takes the image in.

"…and the beast was a tough bastard, he was," Walder tells him. "When you make your first kill, you'd do well to pick a prettier one. Maybe an elk. Those'll do. And you won't have to worry about your wife complaining about how the head doesn't compliment the décor. Because mine sure did when I brought that hog head in that day, I remember."

Ned is still staring.

"Tell him about that stableboy Micah," Israel suggests. "He'd like to hear about him."

"Right," Walder nods. "Micah was a stableboy that came around some fifteen years ago. He was always a simple sort of boy. We took him in because we pitied him, truth be told. But if he wasn't the funniest sort of chap that ever set foot in this castle…"

I'll say this for Ned—he's a well behaved baby. He's quiet. He keeps himself busy. He hardly ever cries. My mother and I have already figured out what this means—he gets my face, but he's got Israel in him. I'm not entirely sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. I think it might be both.

My first clue was his introversion. He can't exactly talk, but he makes those drawn out noises and giggles that babies do at his age. What I noticed is that he only 'talks' around us. Israel and I, my mother, and sometimes Edmure or Bryndon. That's it. No one else. Not even the nurses.

"Well, he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut," Israel said the first time I noticed it.

"You were like this as a child?"

"That's what they tell me. Means he'll make an excellent prince. He belongs in a king's court."

"I'm slightly disturbed by this development."

"He's going to be damn clever," she had said. "What's disturbing about that?"

"He's going to end up like his mother. Which means he'll spend most of his time hating everyone he sees and wondering who'd squeal if they were penetrated from the back."

"That was a one-time thing and I had a legitimate concern."

"It's going to be one of your life's greatest mysteries and that makes it a lifetime concern of mine. For your sanity."

"The lung freezing northern air can do that to a person," Israel says. "Tamper with their sanity."

"Riverlands air seems to have an impact as well. All this dirt and trees and lake water."

"That's called fresh air, love," she says.

"And northern air isn't fresh?"

"No, it's frozen. Fresh and frozen aren't the same. There really is a fine line there."

I yank on her arm today and pull her onto my lap. She glares at me and Ned giggles at the sudden movement. I don't know why sudden movement excites him. It just does. Walder is pleased at the sound. He probably thinks he's managed to make Ned laugh. Israel smiles at Ned and he laughs harder.

Ned is a Mama's boy. Israel is good for him. She understands him. I've never heard of a baby so obedient at his age. She'll have no trouble with him as he gets older. If he survives until then, which you should know—at the rate he's going—is highly unlikely.

"Israel, he's doing it again," I say to her quietly as Walder gives Ned a lick of rum from his finger.

"It'll strengthen his system," Israel says. "It's not like he'll be doing it forever. We'll be gone in two bloody days."

And she pulls herself off of my lap and heads outside, wiggling her fingers at Ned before she goes. His smile is gone as soon as she leaves. His frown makes my brows furrow. Slowly, he starts to whimper.

"Get Izzy back in here," Walder says to the maid, who rushes off quickly.

Like I said. Mama's boy.

Ned's cried a few times before. He doesn't do it often, but he's human, dammit. Usually it's because he's annoyed by someone. Sometimes it's when he's tired and everyone is pinching his cheeks and won't let him sleep. But sometimes it's simply because Israel has left the vicinity, like now. And you can tell that was it because she doesn't even need to pick him up. All she needs to do is walk back into the room and the frown is gone. He doesn't typically need her to carry him. But the Twins is no place to be raising a child, and he seems to know this, so he holds out his short little arms to her, begging her to get him away from his mentally unsound grandfather. His fists clench and unclench, and I notice that he has a dimple on the side of his right hand. That's definitely something he got from her. He keeps on reaching for her until he gets frustrated and lets out a light wail. Israel rolls her eyes and crosses the room to him, scooping him up. He buries his face in her neck and doesn't move again.

"I don't think rum agrees with him, Papa," Israel says. "We'd best stick to wine."

"Wine always works," Walder nods. "He's a little gent of taste."

"Come on, you little ginger brat," Israel mumbles into Ned's ear. He sticks his finger into his mouth and makes a small, drawn out hum as she carries him out of the room. "Let's go get ourselves some fresh air while we can."

I follow her out of the room and onto the grounds. She stops by the fence where she used to sit so long ago.

"He has a dimple on his hand," I tell her. "The same one you have."

"Does he?" she asks, holding his tiny fist up to get a good look. "What do you know? He does. You're in luck, Gingersnap Junior. You've got my hands."

"He doesn't seem to have much else of you in there," I lament. Right from the moment I'd found out she was carrying, I'd hoped that he'd look something like her. Israel has the sort of face you'd want to pass on to a child.

"No, no, no," she says. "He has my beauty mark. Look at it. There by his eye. See?"

"Yeah, but what else?"

"Well…he has my smile."

"You mean the actual smile or the tendency to use it politically?"

"Well…both. Think on it. He looks like you, but he thinks like me."

"He's a combination of the worst parts of us."

"Well, I can see what you mean when you talk about his looks," she says, holding Ned up to the light to see him from all angles. "I'd really rather he had my hair. What are the odds, huh?"

"Didn't you say you had a redhead grandparent?"

"My mother's father, yes. But no one talks about him."

"Because he moved to Braavos?"

"No. Because he was a ginger. Weren't you paying attention?"

"Being ginger actually isn't all bad."

"I certainly hope not. For his sake."

Ned yawns, pulling his hand out of his mouth to stretch lazily before he curls back up onto her shoulder.

"I can't let him sleep," she says. "He'll be up all night and I don't want him to miss the wedding."

"Heaven forbid he witness a Frey wedding."

"There's no wedding like a Frey wedding," Israel says as she shows Ned the apple tree. He busies himself with trying to bite into an apple, but his teeth are only just starting to poke through so he has a hard time sinking them in.

"No there is not," I say, silently recalling ours.

Nope. Motherhood hasn't changed her at all.