So...two and half months break. All I can say is I'm sorry for the delay. I had a lot of changes (all positive!) going on in my life, and a major case of writer's block. But now I'm officially a nurse and got over it, so I'm back! I couldn't have gotten back my muse without my super beta, xxRoweenaJAgustinexx, so give her some love and check out her amazing GoT stories! Thank you to all of you for the continuing support through reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following this story. I am truly grateful that you all take time out of your day to read my story. Everyone of you is amazing.

I'd really appreciate if you'd be willing to leave a review on the new chapter! It has new characters that I was excited, and nervous, to write for, so it would really be a huge encouragement to receive even a little feedback from everyone. Things done right or wrong, likes or dislikes, opinions, or just what you would like to see as the story progresses would be really useful. I've started posting some content related to Defying Demons on my tumblr page too (darkwolf76), and put up a poll on my author profile about writing additional content for this story, so check those out of you feel inclined as well. Thank you again for reading! Enjoy!


Chapter 28: Masks and Misery

They felt restless in their prison, deep and swathed in shadow. They could see and feel, but they could not do, not nearly as much as they once had at least. They could feel winter coming, the cold winds carrying white storms and ice from beyond the Wall. They could feel him, picking away at the scant amount of warm-blooded creatures within his reach, biding his time and waiting, just as they did. They could feel the six little direwolf pups, scurrying about Winterfell after their masters, naive refugees from a fate worse than death. They smirked, he must have been terribly cross that their mother had escaped his grasp. She would have been a fierce soldier for his cause, of more value than any might comprehend.

They watched the Winterfell courtyard. The quiet wolf, the Tully trout, and the little Starklings were scurrying around as they prepared for the arrival of their petty king, thinking they were proud Northerners that knew the winter. That was laughable, to say the least. They knew the chill of the North, but not the true frigid cold of it. None of them could ever know the beauty of the ice, the pleasure and pain of the cold, or the peace of the deepest winter. However, their ignorance was one of the few things that they were able to draw some dull form of amusement from in their current state of paltry existence.

The youngest Starking, as wild as his wolf, galavanted around with his black pup, pretending they were pack brothers, braving the fiercest of winter storms, when he'd only ever known the kiss of the summer sun. His equally wild sister told anyone who would listen that she and her silver direwolf would become great warriors someday, though she'd only ever known the sweet peace and prosperity of summer. It was pitiful how little these babes knew, and how much they fancied they knew.

When the Starklings lined up in Winterfell's courtyard, the elder Stark girl looked a perfect summer maiden, her hair kissed by fire and gleaming in the sun. Some men said it was an evil color, while others found it lucky, they never could decide. The girl had the same dreamy look in her sky blue eyes as she did when she sewed by her fire and told her little sandy wolf of her day dreams, filled with golden princes and brave knights and babies and the warm, sunny south.

Then came the second youngest Stark boy, scurrying in after everyone else to stand next to his sister. He was a curious one indeed. The boy scaled towers like a little wildling and played innocent sword games with his fawn pup trailing behind, but something about him was off, something which piqued their interest in a most unsettling way. He seemed to radiate summer like his siblings, but something deep and dark thrummed about him. They would have to to watch him carefully.

As the youngest Stark girl rushed into the courtyard to join her family, helm on her head, a low chuckle came from behind. They looked back at the elder three companions of the Stark pups, three summer children that fancied themselves grown and ready for winter. The slippery squid wore a smug facade, baring his kracken proudly on his cloak, but that smirk hid a insecure and lost child, torn by his split existence. He longed for kindness, a sense of belonging, and it made him weak. It was plain to them this would be his downfall.

The golden-haired maid, a shining depiction of summer itself, lingered next to him, a flicker of amusement crossing her features before her amber eyes fixated again on a dark boy a few people over. She'd always been the Bolton girl's close companion, a sparkling flame in the shadow of the girl's life. But she was a flame adrift and faltering, surrounded by shadows herself, unaware of the darkness behind and ahead of her. Sweet and sad would be her song, though she did not know it. No. Her dreams were so full of hope still.

The dark, brooding bastard she looked at smiled at his little sister, but did little to hide the conflict and tension brewing in him. Different paths that led to drastically different destinations laid before him. They warred for his will like two beasts. He had wolf in him to be sure, it allowed him to bond with his silent, pale pup, but he had something else in him too...He was as intriguing as the younger boy.

They glanced away as the castle gate opened and a glittering parade marched into the courtyard. A multitude of guards, led by warriors in gleaming, gold armor, surrounded a menagerie of colorful nobles. Pomposity radiated off the lot of them like a horrible stench. A second in the heart of Winter, all of their flames would be extinguished. The procession came to a stop, and the whole host in the courtyard bowed down.

Far above them, a groan came as the Bolton girl tried to kneel with the massive bulk of her stomach. The child within her shifted, sensing his mother's discomfort. A boy...it was the boy that the girl prayed for. He had his mother's hair. They reached out from their distant and deep prison, extending their presence to sooth the babe. All is well little one, they cooed, smiling as they lulled the child into a deep slumber. The babe practically glowed with innocence, not yet marred by the world or hardened by the cold. He reminded them so much of... They couldn't complete the thought. It hurt too much, the wounds too raw and unhealed, even after all this time...

The eldest Stark boy, the quiet wolf's heir, surreptitiously slipped an arm around the girl 's waste as the host knelt down, supporting some of her weight. Then, as the crowd stood again, beckoned by their king, he practically lifted her himself, before removing his limb and clasping his hands again. Ah, sweet summer love; the young wolf did hold a flame for the girl. The pair held each other at night as they stroked the head of his grey wolf pup and talked of the child, their heads filled sunshine and their words full of warmth. How childish the pair was, how innocent. It was pitiful, for it would never last.

They had seen many monarchs come and go throughout their long years. The jiggling, black bearded man, with a fancy circlet of gold on his head, calling himself "king", was one of the less impressive specimens. He towered over the quiet wolf, greeting him with a hearty laugh and firm embrace, but his lively blue eyes and quivering jowls hid a broken and tired spirit filled yearning, wariness, and loneliness. They felt the girl 's surprise and pity. They sneered, neither the girl nor this king of hers knew of real pain.

The walking bowl of jelly squeezed the Tully trout in a crushing embrace before moving on to the eldest Starkling. The young wolf met the king with as equally a firm handshake and stoic expression as his father, trying to stand tall like the quiet wolf. Oh, that sweet summer child, it was amusing, how much the young wolf tried to be a man, to his parents, the common folk, his siblings, his wife. Yet the pressure he felt was overwhelming, pretending he had wisdom that did not truly posses. They had watched him quite a bit with girl. At least she had the sense to know he was not yet fully grown. He was a starry eyed and eager pup, harboring idealistic notions and lofty dreams, having only felt the slightest brush of a cool breeze against his cheek. He would have to harden before the true winter winds came, for only a full grown wolf could survive them.

The soft king then greeted the girl with a kind smile and some off color joke about the quiet wolf's brood breeding more like rabbit's than wolves. The girl took it in stride, her frozen mask demure, though she did cringe a little. They sighed, watching as the king turned away to great the other children. The girl was a child of summer too. Ice flowed through her, she'd glimpsed shadow, they'd tried to show her winter, but she still didn't know what any of it meant. She loved the snow and the stillness, as they did, but did not yet know of winter storms. She welcomed the cold, but had never known the full extent of its vicious sting or healing touch.

After the raven-haired king came his golden queen and her children. She was quite pretty, with golden hair and green eyes like the sunshine and grasses of summer, but she had a terrible bitterness about her. She had soured, her beauty marred by anger and ambition, as if the world had done her a great wrong. That was truly hilarious. The woman had power from the crown on her head, seven kingdoms at her feet, three golden children at her bosom, and her life. She was a weak and naive soul. Yet, she thought herself clever, a reserved and keen player. Ridiculous.

After her trailed her three sunny-haired children. The younger prince and princess were so sweet and innocent, they almost shined too bright to look at, they were so sheltered. The oldest though stunk badly of pride and had delusions of grandeur. He reminded them of the breaker. How they desired to snap his little neck, to get just a taste of the sweet vengeance they'd been denied.

After the children followed a gold knight, the golden queen's twin... and lover, if they sensed right. Odd, but they'd seen far stranger. He bared a veneer of pride too, but it masked great conflict and confusion. Still, he knew nothing of winter.

They watched as the jelly king whisked the quiet wolf away, and then the ritualistic pomposity came to an end. The Tully trout took charge, divying up the duty of settling the mass of guests among servants and the Starklings. She took the golden queen to her chambers in the Guest House. The girl followed behind, nervousness brewing behind her perfectly frozen mask as she trailed the older women.

They chuckled mirthlessly. All of those fools were summer children, knowing nothing of pain, dark, or cold. Those petty children couldn't comprehend the true extent of winter's sheer terror or beauty. When he came, he would show all of them the terror. They had tried to show children the beauty once...and had suffered greatly for it.

They needed to reach the girl soon, if their plan was to succeed. They would have to fight harder to break free of the binds of their prison. They could only hope that the winter winds would bring the girl's idyllic summer to an end sooner than later and weaken her defenses. Otherwise, there would be no hope for any of them.


It definitely was true what they said about the Northern girls. They had a savage edge to them but certainly knew how to keep a man warm. Tyrion regretted that he had had to leave the embrace of Ros, the lovely red-headed creature at the brothel that he'd spent his day with. Alas, his sister had demanded his presence at the Stark's welcome feast, and Cersei was the queen, so she always got what she wanted, Tyrion thought bitterly.

The northern chill was not easy to shake, even bundled in furs. As the youngest lion of Lannister walked through the grounds of Winterfell towards the Great Hall, he felt the warmth Ros had so thoroughly instilled in him start to seep away. He wondered how the Starks could endure such a land, where warmth came so slowly. Ros had said northerners depended on each other to get through the vicious winters. That's why honor and family were so much more important to them than they were to southerners, she'd said. One smile from a wife or mother would be enough for a man of the north to survive the coldest winter.

That seemed a bit far fetched to Tyrion, but an interesting curiosity. Perhaps it was a northern condition for such a small thing to sustain a man's need for warmth. Tyrion himself was a greedy for it, and knew he could not survive in these harsh lands if all he had to go on was one small smile.

He slipped inside through a servant 's door near the Great Hall, hoping to avoid a fanfare of an entrance, so his sister and their hosts wouldn't notice how late he was. The loud sounds of lively music and the savory smell of northern cuisine arrested his senses as soon as he stepped indoors. Despite this, he already found the festivities Starks were said to be a grim and dour bunch, though he was comforted by the fact that they would have brought out their best wine for his drunken royal good brother. He would have a far easier time getting drunk on that then the bitter brew the northerners called ale.

The gods must of sensed his lessening joy and decided to be merciful for once, for a serving girl holding a full pitcher of that sweet wine stood right outside the hall's entrace, held up by a Lannister gaurd.

"Please let me pass," she said, her annoyance evident even through her thick northern accent.

"Come now, love," the guard taunted, "Just agree to have drink with me tonight, and I'll let you be on your way."

"I'd rather not," she bit back.

"You northern girls are hard to please," the guard said. "But I'm up for a challenge. Here, I'll show you I'm fun. How do you get a septa pregnant?" He asked as he tried to brush the girl 's arm.

"I don't know," the girl muttered as she stepped back.

"You dress her as an alter boy!" The soldier burst into a fit of crackling while the blonde maid just stared him with a mixture of confusion and disgust on her face.

"Is that it?" She cocked her head. "Am I supposed to be laughing?" The guard frowned angrily at her mockery.

Perhaps Tyrion could get that pitcher from her in exchange for a rescue."I'd have to agree with the lady, that joke was terrible. And in poor taste," he commented as he strolled up to the pair. "You're speaking to a serving girl, not a whore."

The soldier, obviously drunk, with slobber on his chin and a crooked red cape, scowled at Tyrion. "Find your own woman to fuck, imp, this one is mine."

"Yours?" Tyrion raised a brow. "Did she already agree to fuck you? I find that hard to believe, with a face like yours."

For the first time, the servant girl cracked a smile.

"Watch what you say, imp," the man sneered, putting a hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Is that a threat?" Tyrion quipped. "Surely not, because a Lannister guard attacking a member of the family he serves would not stand. What would the queen say if you harmed her dear baby brother?" He gasped for effect. "Or even worse, what would the great Tywin Lannister do to a man that dishonored a member his house?"

The man's face suddenly went ashen. "I-"

"It will be rather interesting to find out."

"Pardon m 'lord!" The man fell to his knees before Tyrion. The Lannister chuckled in amusement.

"Very well, though I would suggest you make yourself scarce for the rest of the night. We wouldn't want you to say something else you might regret."

He smirked as the guard stumbled away as fast as he his shaky legs could carry him.

"I hope he didn't harry you too much," the dwarf said as he turned back to the girl. When she shook her head, Tyrion rubbed his hands together. "Excellent! Now, dealing with annoying underlings does make me rather thirsty. Perhaps a cup of your wine can quench that."

"But ," the blonde girl raised a brow. "I've no cup m'lord."

"Then just give me the pitcher," Tyrion suggested. "I've a long evening to get through and I'd rather not see it sober."

"The Starks are not that tiresome, m'lord," the girl shot back, scowling once again. "And we have feasts in the North far livelier than any of you southerners can put on."

"Really?" Tyrion asked, amused. It was very true that northern girls had a savage side. No southern servant girl would ever say anything like that to him.

The girl cringed, realizing her folly. Well, perhaps a folly if she'd been addressing his sister or brother. Jamie would probably just berate or intimidate her, to remind of her of her place, but Cersei might have her tongue. Yet, Tyrion slightly admired the girl's gall. She would probably make far more interesting company then his sour sister or the honorable Ned Stark, and could definitely pass more time before he had to enter the feast.

"Why don't you hand me that pitcher and then take a walk with me?" The girl looked utterly confused, hesitating before she handed the flagon to Tyrion. Both hands wrapped around the rim, he took a long swig of wine and then began to waddle away from the hall. "Come now, girl," he called after him.

The girl trailed behind him after a moment or two of hesitation. He took another gulp of wine before he spoke again. "What's a fine girl like you, with an entire jug of good wine, doing outside of a feast and not getting festive with the guards?" he asked before taking another drink.

"Uh..." the girl paused. "I don't think m'lord would be interested in the worries of a servent," she stated with a skeptic tone.

"I'm a fair man, my dear," the dwarf replied, licking bitter-sweet wine from his lips. "I have time to spare, and a Lannister always pays his debts. You provided me with this lovely wine, so I will provide you with some good advice in turn. Now, tell me what ails you before I'm too drunk to care." He then took another long slurp as they navigated out a door and into a courtyard.

"Well, it's a man..." The maid admitted reluctantly.

"It usually is," Tyrion nodded. "An admirer that won't take no for an answer?"

"No," the maid shook her head. "It's someone I quite admire, though I am unsure he returns the sentiment."

Tyrion raised a brow curiously as he looked over the young women. She was not a legendary beauty, but attractive all the same. Blonde hair, firm tits, smooth skin. "Perhaps he is a eunuch and does not care to admit it," he speculated with an amused smirk.

The girl laughed as she gripped a gold chain around her neck. "Not quite. He's just very... honorable."

Tyrion took another drink of wine. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation of the warm liquid slipping down his throat. "Ah," he chuckled. "He must be quite a Stark man then." For the Starks worshiped honor almost like a god and northern men worshiped the Starks.

"Aye," the girl nodded. "But I think it's more the Wall that makes him honorable, rather than his loyalty."

"The Wall?" Tyrion rubbed his chin. "One of the seven man made wonders, quite fascinating. I've thought of going to see it once the King finished his business here, but I don't think it would keep me from pursuing a woman."

"It would if you wanted to join the Night's Watch." The girl spat the last two words almost like a curse.

Tyrion looked at her closely. "This man would rather take the black and spend his nights freezing his dock off in the company of thieves and rapists, than enjoying a lovely woman's company?" He shook his head. "Perhaps you're looking in the wrong place for companionship, my dear."

"He might just be stubborn. He is a good fighter, and wants to protect the realm, " the girl defended.

"Or perhaps he's more fond of other lads' swords, or sheep..."

"Already asked him," the girl shrugged, a ghost of a smile falling on her lips. "It definitely isn't that."

"Well then," Tyrion paused to guzzle more wine, chasing that lovely warm buzz he felt at the edges of his perception. "It seems the only way you will know for sure, my dear, is if you trap him and confront him. I'm not usually one for such a direct approach, but if he's a warrior, he might appreciate that way more. Anyway, you northerners do seem far more... "

The girl raised a brow. He shrugged, "direct."

He went to take another gulp of wine, when our of nowhere, he was shoved off his feet. Disappointingly, he dropped the pitcher, and the last of that lovely brew spilled out onto the dirt.

"Ghost!" The servant girl berated. Tyrion blinked, was the drink marking him hallucinate already? A medium sized dog, pale as a wraith and with blood red eyes, stared at him, baring its teeth silently as the servant girl dragged it back by its scruff.

"Ghost, heel!" The maid commanded. Only after she glared at it for a moment, did the creature comply, sitting at her feet.

"I'm sorry, m'lord," she said as Tyrion picked himself up. "I don't know why he's out. All the others were kenneled for the night."

"There are others like your friend?" Tyrion asked as he brushed the dust from his doublet, keeping his eyes fixed on the beast.

"He has five litter mates. Each of the Stark children have one."

Tyrion shivered as the dog moved between him and the girl, glaring at him with those two ruby eyes. They glowed in the dark as if the creature was a hellhound. To imagine there was five more.

"Well," he tried to wave away his unease. "I am out of wine, so I best get to the feast before they run out."

"Of course, m'lord," the servant girl bobbed. "Thank you for the advice, and I am so very sorry about him. " She nodded to her dog as she leaned down the scratch his ears.

"No matter, my dear, though I should leave before your hound decides he dislikes me too much to obey your commands." Tyrion took a step back. He then turned to make his retreat when the girl called, "He's actually a direwolf, m'lord. " She smiled as she rubbed the wild animal's head like a pet.

"Ah, direwolf, sorry," Tyrion called as he walked away. Gods, the Starks kept direwolves as pets. The North was a savage place indeed.


Despite her favored position as Hazelyn's maid, Myna was still a servant, and with the King of the Seven Kingdoms visiting, every servant had ended up with extra duties. For her, that meant serving wine to increasingly drunk nobles all night.

Music bellowed out loudly as the drink continued to flow. The sun had set a while ago, but the party would last for hours yet, Myna suspected. Northerners were known to have feasts that went clear to dawn, but with as "festive" as the king was, this one might last several days. Talk in the kitchens was that Robert Baratheon had already consumed half a barrel of wine, and he was still standing up right. Myna didn't know whether to feel horrified that this was the person that ruled over the fates of the people of the seven kingdoms, or impressed that the man was out drinking Lord Umber, a near legendary feat.

Honestly, she didn't care much either way for the jolly king or his frosty queen. The guests from the south fascinated her little, and she would lose no sleep when it came time for them to leave again. The only one of real merit to her was the Lannister imp. He was an interesting fellow. Myna smirked, she couldn't wait to see Zel's reaction when she told her the queen's dwarf brother had been her drinking companion.

Tyrion Lannister was odd to say the least, but brilliant, in a peculiar sort of way. He'd given her a chance slip away from the hectic feast filled with drunken high-borns and good advice regarding the source of her near constant frustration as of late.

Since she'd sat on her mother's knee, Myna had been known for her direct, often blunt, ways. She felt they made life far easier. Unfortunately, Jon Snow was anything but direct. Myna groaned as she looked up at the dark night sky and closed her eyes.

She'd tried to be honest with Jon, hoping it would clear up the muddled mess that was their relationship, but it had somehow, inexplicably, only made things worse. Zel had cautioned her to be patient with him, had pleaded with her let either her or Robb talk to him for her. Myna snorted at the notion. Likely, Hazelyn was afraid she'd let her mouth get the best of her and she'd say something she'd regret, but Myna would not let others solve her problems for her.

The imp was right, she needed to be direct. Jon had promised her nothing would change between them after she'd told him the truth, that everything was fine, but the way he'd treated her since then told her quite the contrary. And every chance she'd given him to come clean, he had run from her like a craven instead of telling her what his problem was. Well, that bull shit ended tonight.

Jon Snow had lied to her, and she would never allow him to forget that... Not without an apology at least. It felt as though he had left a sort of shell of himself behind for her-his image was there, but there was no substance to their relationship anymore. The warmth they'd shared was gone without a word.

She drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes. She looked around the dark courtyard she'd wandered into. Not a breeze disturbed the night air, and only dim, distant stars lit the darkness. Myna shivered; she hated the dark and cold. The courtyard looked practically lifeless, except for the twin blood-red coals that peered silently at her from the shadows.

"At least you haven't left me," she said with a smile. She leant down and outstretched her fingers as the white direwolf trotted over to her to receive a good ear scratching. "How would you like to help me, Ghost?" She murmured. She grinned when his tale began to wag.

The pup didn't bother to even sniff the ground when she asked him to lead her to Jon. He seemed to know the way instinctualy. She wasn't surprised when Ghost ran to the tiltyard. It was Jon's go to place when Lady Catelyn had the opportunity banish him from her hall.

Sure enough, there Jon was, hacking away at some practice dummy. He swung his sword with lethal force and grunted harshly, brimming with anger and frustration, maybe as much as Myna felt, though she thought he didn't have any right to feel that way. She had to stop herself in the stone archway leading to the yard to breath, she felt so angry. It wouldn't do either of them any good if she confronted him while seeing red. That's what Elena had always told her anyway, and her great aunt had always had an eerie knack for being right.

She clutched hard at her bear pendant and thought of her mother. Breathing deeply, she watched as Ghost ran ahead of her into the yard. He made not a sound as he trotted to his master's side. Despite that, Jon must of noticed the flash of white, because he dropped his sword as soon as his direwolf came into sight.

"There you are! " He exclaimed, kneeling down to pet his direwolf. He smiled slightly as he ran a hand through the pup's white fur. "You're a good lad, Ghost." But then he frowned as he stared into Ghost's blood eyes. "Was she alright?"

Myna raised a brow. What was he talking about? She took a step forward, but then paused when she heavy footsteps across the yard.

"Uncle Benjen!"

Benjen Stark strode into view, barely distinguishable from the shadows in his black satin garb.

Myna saw the warmth Jon exuded as he smiled and greeted his uncle, exchanging a firm embrace with him, and felt envy trickling into her veins.

"Is this one of the direwolf pups I've heard about?" Benjen grinned as he spotted Ghost standing behind his master. He bent down and held out a hand to the creature.

"Aye," Jon smiled. "Ghost, come here and sit, " he commanded softly, pointing to where his uncle was. The pup obediently trotted to Benjen and settled on his haunches in front of him, his tail slightly twitching as the older man scratched his ears. "I've been training him," Jon added.

"You've got a good handle on him," Benjen smiled as he stood up. Jon's chest seemed to puff with pride. Myna didn't like how much he basked in the ranger's praise.

"Why aren't you at the feast this time?" Benjen asked.

Jon shrugged. "Lady Catelyn didn't want to insult the royal family by sitting a bastard in their midst."

"Well," Benjen nodded in encouragement to his nephew, "You'd always be welcome on the Wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

Myna tensed, her fingers tightening around her necklace as she waited to hear how Jon would respond.

A moment passed before Jon asked, "How are things at the Wall? Do you need more men?"

"We always need more men," Benjen admitted, a tired expression on his face. "I intend to seek an audience with King while I'm here. Hopefully, he can help remedy the situation, and your father always has a few recruits for me in his dungeons."

"But not many will be fighting men," Jon noted quietly. Myna hated the serious frown on his face, hated the dread creeping up and curling around her insides.

"We'll train them up, we always do," Benjen said.

"I could..." Jon hesitated, "I could go with you, if you need help."

So he still wanted to join the Night's Watch. Myna's heart sank. Perhaps there was no need for her to confront him after all. If he would truly leave her, why prolong the pain any further by seeking to reconcile with him?

Benjen narrowed his grey eyes, studying the younger man. "You don't sound very sure of yourself."

"I-" Jon looked away.

"Lad, the Night's Watch is for life," Benjen said, that typical grim Stark mask on his face. "It's a great honor to serve, but we give up much to do it."

"I know," Jon nodded. Myna frowned when he continued to not meet his uncle's eyes. He did not sound eager, and a selfish part of her was pleased.

"We have no lands. Take no wives, father no children. Would you be willing to give all of that up?" Benjen asked.

Myna held her breath as she looked at Jon's face. He glanced at Benjen and opened his mouth, but then was interrupted by a small bark.

Myna startled when she felt Ghost bite her skirts, drawing the attention of the two Stark men and giving away her hiding spot. Jon's eyes met hers, widening in shock and horror.

Benjen raised a brow and his frown deepened at the exchange. "Jon."

Jon whipped his head around to his uncle. The ranger placed a firm hand on his shoulder, "You'd be valued at the Wall, but I need you need be sure of yourself before you answer my question. I'll be here for awhile, so take some time to think on it."

"Aye," Jon replied, not putting up a protest, to Myna's relief.

"Good," Benjen smiled as he stepped back. "I best be off. Can't leave your father alone with the Lannisters for too long." He then pulled his black cloak tighter about his shoulders and walked off into the shadow.

Ghost yipped again, biting at the hem of Myna's dress and tugging it forward. Myna sighed, stepping into the tiltyard and followed the white pup. Jon didn't move or meet her gaze as she approached.

Myna tried to keep her face passive, but felt as if she was about to hurl. Her knuckles turned white from grasping her necklace so tightly. Her mind raced to find the right thing to say, but when Jon finally looked at her, she blurted out the first thought that popped into her mind.

"You promised me."

Jon's brow furrowed. "What?"

Myna couldn't stop herself. "You promised me." When she saw the nervous glint in Jon's eye, the tension around his mouth, her fury returned. "You promised me nothing would change between us, after I told you my secret, but you lied."

"Myna," Jon sighed.

But she didn't want to hear his half-ass excuses. She was so tired of trying to guess what Jon wanted, dancing around with him. The Lannister dwarf had been right. She needed to be direct.

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't stand me anymore, and I want to know why. Is it because you don't want to sully yourself further with another lowly bastard? Am I not good enough anymore? Or was I never good enough?" She laughed. It truly felt freeing, just letting her anger flow through her and take control. "You're like every other man I've ever met, looking for some momentary fun and nothing more."

"That's not true and you know it! " Jon scowled.

"What is the truth then Jon? I was honest with you, so perhaps you should stop being such a craven and return the courtesy! "

Jon's face contorted in anger. " Seven hells! About what Myna?"

Myna nashed her teeth. "About why you lied! About what you want! Have the courage to at least tell me you can't stand being around another bastard!"

Jon glared at her. "I never would judge you for that!"

"Then why did you recoil from me after I told you?! What do you want? If you want to end it, just say so!" The maid's voice rose with each word.

Jon's jaw tensed. "I don't want you to throw away the life your mother gave you!" He shouted.

Myna sneered. "What does any of this have to do with my mother?"

Jon almost looked pained as he uttered, "She gave up everything just so you didn't have to have a bastard name."

"Why the hell does that matter? You've always planned to run off to your precious Wall anyway!" Myna spat.

She told herself she imagined the hurt that flashed in Jon's brown eyes. "That's not true! I wanted to stay, but I-" he broke off suddenly, choking on his words.

Searing shock replaced Myna's burning rage. "What?"

Jon stared at her with wide eyes.

"What do you mean you wanted to stay?" She demanded.

Jon swallowed and looked away. "Your mother sacrificed so you wouldn't have to live the life of a bastard. I don't want you to throw that away by associating with me."

Myna shook her head, still a little confused. "What if I want to associate you, if I want to do more than that?" When Jon stayed silent, she asked, "Do you want to stay at Winterfell?" The smallest bit of hope bloomed in her chest.

An eternity passed before Jon responded. He slowly glanced back at her with a stubborn gaze. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!" Myna protested. "I've told you your name doesn't matter to me!" she pleaded. "If you want to stay-"

"I don't want to," Jon scowled grimly.

Myna felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She felt hurt, devastation, but most prominently, rage.

"Well that makes things simple then." She balked her hands as a lump formed in her throat. She she drew herself to her full height. "You know what Jon Snow? You are a fucking craven. Enjoy the Wall, the loneliness, and the long, cold nights. You deserve it." She then spun around and stalked away, ignoring Jon calling her name and Ghost barking. She roughly wiped her wet eyes with her sleeve as she walked into the keep. She would not shed a tear for that craven. I hate him, I hate him, I hate HIM! Yet, her stupid heart reminded her she didn't She only hated the blow he'd inflicted.

She was so lost in her anger and hurt, she almost ran into man servant carrying a large crate into the kitchens. She stumbled to the side at the last minute, chest heaving, heart racing, her vision blurred with tears.

There was a long pause, and Myna was hardly aware that the man had stopped at the door, watching intently as she collected herself, sniffling. It was only when he spoke that she realized he'd been waiting.

"Excuse me." His voice was soft and calm, and what should have been a soothing, silky voice, was haunting...ice entered Myna's veins at his words. She dragged her eyes up, catching the briefest glance of an icy pair of grey eyes, before hurrying on inside the busy kitchen. It was safer to be in a crowd than it was to walk alone. But as she hurried past a cutting board, she quickly grabbed the filleting knife, slipping the sharp, wet blade up into her sleeve. She had to find Hazelyn, quickly.


Northerners could throw a lively party, but the King of the Seven Kingdoms put them all to shame. His booming voice and carousing demeanor were contagious to the crowd. Maybe it was just an attempt to impress the king, but it seemed all the men were getting drunk twice as fast as they normally did.

Hazelyn herself had never been one for rowdy celebrations, so she'd been more than thankful when Arya had flung pudding across the table onto Sansa. Tending to her hysterical former charge and good sister had been a good enough excuse to escape the hall without insulting the royal family. After helping Sansa change out of her stained dress and calming the fretting girl's tears, Hazelyn had snuck back to her own chamber.

Even if the feast went until morning, she knew the baby wouldn't allow her to last even half that long. She groaned in relief as she kicked off her shoes and rolled her swollen ankles. After changing into a loose gown, she settled into an armchair by the smoldering hearth.

"What story do we have tonight?" She murmured quietly to her stomach, rubbing the bump as she shifted in her seat to find a comfortable position. In response, her son delivered a firm kick to her insides. "No, you don't. Just because that silly king was driving all the older boys to be rowdy, doesn't mean you get to be," she scolded, cradling her belly to lift the baby away from her bladder. These days, such an odd action allowed her a little relief.

"How about we read about the children of the forest tonight?" Hazelyn hummed as she opened her tome to the page she'd marked. A detailed depiction of tiny, fawn-colored children of the forest danced around the text, their gold and green eyes gleaming in the low fire light. Hazelyn frowned as she stared at the image. She'd never cared too much for the Children of the Forest in legends. Something about them had always seemed so odd to her... off even. Those eyes, those gold eyes...

She almost tumbled out of the chair when the door swung open, wood loudly slamming against stone. She sighed as Robb came in, grinning, his cheeks flushed and eyes a little glazed. Setting her book down, she stood to greet him.

"I thought you'd go back to feast once you'd put Arya to bed," she noted as she closed the door behind him.

Robb smiled lazily at her and shrugged . "I've had my fill for the night. I don't think Father or Mother would want me too in my cups in front of the royal family." Hazelyn giggled as he shrugged out of his doublet and tossed it carelessly to the floor. "The King wasn't happy until each man in the Great Hall had at least two drinks," Robb mumbled, voice heavy with wine, as he flopped down onto their bed. It was easy to tell from the way he struggled to kick off his boots that he'd had more than the king's two drink minimum.

She shook her head fondly as she lifted her belly again. "I don't understand how the king can be so brazen with his moods," she commented, approaching the bed. "I thought kings were more...demure."

"A king who inspired a country to rebel against the former royals would never have survived if he were demure," her husband chuckled, lying back against the pillows.

Hazelyn thought a moment, gently letting her baby bump come back down. "The queen must resent it," she pondered aloud. "Didn't he pull a serving girl into his lap?"

Robb grunted in the affirmative. "Did more than pull her in his lap."

Hazelyn frowned and sat down on the bed's edge. For all their glitz, gold, and glory, the royal family was quite sad. Despite all the King Robert's bravado, instinct told Hazelyn that he was just putting up a front, a mask to hide something far uglier than the drunk, jolly man he wanted the world to see. She cringed, knowing that feeling and desire too well.

Then there was the woman who sat at the king's side, Cersei Lannister, his wife and Queen. The lady's beauty lived up to its near legendary status, but her impeccable manners had a stiffness to them. The way her mouth had pulled thin, full of tension, when the king had gotten rowdy, the way she'd snapped at the septa to get her younger two children to bed before they saw their father's antics, it reminded Hazelyn of her mother.

The Queen's beautiful emerald eyes, they'd been cold, hard... off, just like the picture of the children. It was another mask, another front, that innate sense told Hazelyn. The Queen was probably trying to hide the bitterness that her husband's humiliation caused her.

Hazelyn could never, would never, let herself be trapped in such a horrid marriage as the queen's or her mother's. Her hand pressed over her bump, and not just for her sake.

"If you ever did that to me, I'd never forgive you," she fixed Robb with a hard stare.

Robb opened his glassy blue eyes, smirking wickedly at her. "I only have eyes for you, sweetheart, " he mumbled as he sat up. "Your lovely hair, and beautiful lips, and gorgeous eyes and-and," his eyes flashed down to her belly as he scooted towards her. "And that belly, my gods." He sounded quite amazed.

Hazelyn couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. He was more drunk than she'd thought. Her arms crossed over her chest.

"Admit it, you only married me for my looks," she smiled.

Robb smirked back, placing a hand over her belly. "Oh yes, your looks," he stroked up her side, trying to look serious. "I've thought of nothing else these past few months. You've consumed me... " he leaned his face towards hers. "I am...uhm-"

Hazelyn snorted with laughter. "Gods, what are you doing?"

Robb flushed and scowled, "Can't you just go along with it? M'not one of em' bloody poets Sansa likes to read."

"That's terribly obvious," Hazelyn grinned. "But they bore me anyway." She brushed her fingers through Robb's messy bronze hair, "I like you far more."

He chuckled. "Glad to hear it."

Hazelyn nodded as he leaned and kissed her. She sighed into his mouth. This was warm and genuine. Robb didn't wear masks. He made her feel that she didn't have to either. Here, with him, she felt safe and secure.

A loud knock on their door forced them to separate.

"Ignore it," Robb breathed against her cheek. Hazelyn nodded as she kissed him again, but then the knocking started back up. Hazelyn recognized the pattern of pounding. She pulled away from her husband, even as he groaned in protest. "It'll only take a moment for me to check," she admonished, making her way to the door. She opened it to find Myna staring at her with an alarmed expression.

She frowned. "Myna? What is it?"


And cut! So we are another chapter deeper into canon. I hope you all enjoyed it! Thank you so much for your time and support. It would really mean a great deal if you'd leave even just a bit of feedback on this update and what you'd like to see next! I'm so excited, the action will be cranking up to 11, REALLY SOON! And some of the twists and turns that I have planned... I've been waiting to write for YEARS. ;-) If you all would like to see more visual content related to this story, check out my tumblr page, and if you'd like to see more written content related to this story, check out the poll on my profile page! Thank you again and happy spring! You all are amazing!:-D