Suzana burst into the room after dinner service, face flushed, a silly look on her face. Rowan raised her eyebrows.

"Malachi?"

The girl flopped down onto her bed, giggling.

"Suzana?"

Giggle.

"Are you drunk?"

"No?"

"Fuck sake." Rowan went to the kitchen, pilfering a chunk of bread and a jug of water. Shouldering the door open, she set it on their pathetic little table. "Get that into you."

"I'm not hungry."

"And I'm not holding your hair back when you puke."

"I'm not going to puke."

"How much wine did you drink?"

"It was ale, not wine."

"Even worse."

"Oh shut up."

Rowan laughed. Suzana had never had the courage to tell any of them to shut up, least of all her. She also never got drunk, despite Rowan's numerous attempts.

"I heard you were sick." Giggle.

Rowan turned her back to her and busied herself.

"You know, I see it." Suzana said. "Or I saw it…"

"Saw what?"

"What you see in him."

"And what's that, Queen of Cups?"

"Well, he hadn't got a shirt on when he opened the door…"

"You've seen him like that before."

"Oh but I didn't look."

Rowan turned to her, grinning. "It's something, isn't it?"

Suzana sighed. "But it's not just that."

Rowan rolled her eyes. "What else?"

"I asked where you were, and he looked at you - or he looked to the bed - and for once he didn't seem mean. He was happy. When he said you were ill, his voice was soft, and he was smiling."

Rowan nodded, knowing what she meant.

The other girl sat up, finally seeing the trunk behind her.

"What are you doing?"

"He asked me to stay with him."

To her complete and utter horror, her friend made some sort of high-pitched cooing noise. Rowan tried to cover her mouth, but she fought back, slapping her hands away.

"Stop that!"

Suzana started giggling again. Rowan dismissed her, returning to the trunk.

"Will you still be a servant?"

"Of course."

"You'll still be in the kitchen?"

"Aye. I'm the Hound's bitch, Suzana. Not the queen."

"But he's a lord!"

"Second son of a minor house."

"I don't think I could call you 'my lady'."

"I won't be a lady!" Rowan cringed at the thought.

"Right you are, Milady."

"Fuck off!"

"You sounded like him there!"

This time Rowan laughed too. Then, reaching into her little wooden box, she extracted one of the purses she had hidden so many months before. Suzana's jaw dropped when she held it out with her.

"Rowan! No!"

"Take it."

"It's your money!"

"I have more than enough, believe me."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can. I'm giving it to you."

"I wouldn't even know what to do with it!"

"I don't, either. This is the best thing I can think of." She pushed it into her lap. "Buy yourself more dresses, cakes, flowery things. Whatever you want."

Suzana lifted the purse into her hands, weighing it, then set it on her bed. Standing, she pulled Rowan into another one of her hugs.

"Thank you."

When Rowan arrived at his door, Sandor opened it before she could even knock. Taking one look down at her yellow dress, he asked. "So you finally burned that grey thing, then?"

She elbowed him out of the way, shoving the heavy trunk into his arms.

"The fuck is in here?"

"Everything I own."

"Not everything." He dropped it, a little too roughly for her liking, at the end of the bed.

"Huh?"

He nervously scratched his scarred flesh. "I went for that walk."

"Congratulations."

"...and I took the money you left last night."

"Sandor -"

"I just thought, if you're going to be here, you'll need a few things."

"I don't need anything!"

"You used my hairbrush this morning."

"Well -"

"And my soap."

"True -"

"And you complained that I didn't have any hair pins."

Rowan burst out laughing. He stared at her in shock.

"You," She managed. "Went shopping for hair pins?"

"Believe me, that wasn't the worst of it."

She made a gesture in front of her face, indicating the fall of his raven hair. "You don't think...maybe...they thought they were for you?"

"That's…!" He thought about it, then groaned. "That would explain the way they spoke to me, actually."

Rowan gathered herself. "Alright, show me."

His face lit up, and he he brought her over to the table. The first thing she saw was the brush. She picked it up, running her thumb over the smooth white handle.

"The handle's pearl. Or that's what they said. If it's not I'll fucking skin them. It cost enough. There's a comb, too. Here." He picked it up. "This one's ivory. My mother had one just like it."

"What's ivory?"

"Oh it's um...animal horn. Or bone. I'm not sure which."

"My mother had one made of bone."

He smiled, handing it to her. Picking up a small box, he slid the lid open, revealing a heap of silver pins and a spool of gold ribbon. "I um… Thought these might suit you. The others they showed me were too gaudy."

Rowan never liked people shoving too many colors into their hair, and smiled that he felt the same. Let them keep their tortoise shell and turquoise, these were perfect. He set them shakily before her.

"Is this soap?" She asked, raising the wax-wrapped bar to her nose and sniffing. Rose and vanilla. She liked it.

"Uh-huh. That's oil there, too. There's one with lemon, and one to bring out your color, or so she said. I don't know what any of that means."

"The lemon to brighten the top of my hair and -" She took a long whiff of the other bottle. "The cinnamon to make it redder."

"Is that alright?"

"We'll see."

He picked at his face again. "...just one more thing." Then, holding her hands, he hauled her over to his tiny armoire. "It's the fullest it's ever been, you know.

"You fucking shit." Rowan gasped, counting the gowns hanging right next to his breeches and doublets. Three in all. Like the one she wore, they were not the best quality, but were far better than what she had always worn. One of lilac, one a pale blue, and the third, her favorite, was deep red. She touched the sleeve. "Is this velvet?"

He nodded.

"How much did this cost?"

"That doesn't matter." He responded. "Do you like it? All of it?"

Rowan spread her palms over his chest and kissed the space between them, which was as far as she could reach when he stood straight like this. "I do, thank you just -"

"Just?"

"Don't do this again."

"Can't. I enjoy eating too much." He said with a teasing grin. She gave him a thump on the shoulder. "So… You really will stay?"

"How many fucking times do I need to tell you? Yes!"

"A million."

For once, he finished eating before her. Rowan wasn't used to having a plateful of good food, and was taking her time with it, savoring every bite. She was also well aware that what she was eating was far richer than what she was used to, and chose to go easy on her stomach.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Sandor walked over to her small trunk and nudged it with his foot. "What's in here?"

"My things, and I'll thank you not to kick it."

"I didn't kick it."

"Good."

"But what's in it?"

He had been giddy all evening. It was annoying. And also charming.

"Bring it here."

He did so with a victorious smirk. Extracting the key from her pocket, Rowan tossed it to him.

"Go ahead."

"Me?"

"I know what's in it."

The lock clicked, and the lid creaked open. He chuckled. "Wildling trinkets."

The axe came out first. He tested the balance of it in his hands before giving it a few experimental swings. He tapped the edge against the corner of the table, taking off a chunk.

"Still sharp enough."

He offered the handle to Rowan, who laid it across her lap. The knife fascinated him. Her father had fashioned it out of a mammoth bone, or so he told her; blade, handle and all. A menagerie of beasts clawed at each other on the handle, and the hilt was a wolf's head, curved blade emerging from its open maw.

"Father made that." She pulled the ring off her finger and set it on the table. "They're a pair."

"The axe too?"

"That was my brother."

"Brother?"

"Aye."

"And this?" He pulled out the off-white cloak.

"Mother. I hear she took the leather off a Crow."

A necklace with a rough opal, a beaded bracelet, a broken bow, a string of raven's feathers for her hair, another bracelet - animal teeth this time, a brooch made from a rabbit skull, and finally her helm. He laid them all on the table, save for the last, which he held in his hands, admiring it.

Rowan touched each item in turn, naming the names as she sometimes did. "Mother Biedh, Father Jurgan, Kurcra, Dweru, Urilem, Aosidh, Nydas, Oleagh, Shoni, Qerhan."

"How fucking many of you are there!"

"I'm the youngest of eight."

"Eight of you?"

She kicked him.

He counted on his fingers. "Eight."

"Four boys, four girls."

"You make nine, you dumb bitch."

She scoffed. "Did you really think my name was 'Rowan'? Southern name if ever I heard one."

He stared at her.

"Qerhan." She said. "Means 'Rowan' in Northern."

"And Qerhan made this?"

"There wasn't much in the way of 'making'. She just added a few straps."

"You killed a bear."

"A small one."

"And I've been here thinking I was courting some pretty little maid."

She blushed. Pretty.

"What's this?" There was one more thing of interest in the box: a long, expensive-looking dagger. "This looks like Dornish craftsmanship."

She winced. Of course he would know that. "It is."

He drew it from its sheath, steel flashing. "Did you take this?"

"No."

"Who gave it to you?"

"A friend."

"Friend?"

"I do have friends."

"And how did your friend pay for a weapon like this?"

She shifted, running a hand through her hair. "He was a musician. People liked his songs. They paid him a fortune just to play at Sunspear."

"Did you like his songs?"

"Yes."

"What else did you like about him?"

There was jealousy in his words, but no anger, so she answered. "He was kind, and funny, and humble -"

"Alright, I've heard enough." He grumbled, looking out the window.

Qerhan stood, putting her axe on the chair. Sandor let her extract the dagger and helmet from his hands, but didn't meet her eye. She sat on his lap, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him.

"He left me." She went on. "One of his patrons' daughters took a liking to him. A beautiful girl who reeked of money. I think they're married now."

"Oh." He mumbled guiltily.

She squeezed him, kissing his neck. "He doesn't matter now."

"How's that?"

"I met someone better."