Hi! So, it's been 9 months. I'm not going to go into a lot detail. But I'm a registered nurse, it's the middle of the pandemic, and I had some writer's block. I think you get the picture. Just thank you to all of you that have been there throughout the dumpster heap of 2020, and beyond. Thank you to the lovely and talented xXRoweenaJAgustineXx for being the best beta, supporter, and friend someone could ask for. Without you I couldn't write this story. Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, follows, and just for reading. Please enjoy the next chapter, and if you have time to leave a review after, that would mean more to me than you could know.
Chapter 35: Secrets in the Shadows
The water had grown a murky pink by the time the last of the blood had been wiped away. Robb dropped the soiled rag into the waiting bowl with a sigh, clutching his wife's limp hand between his own. Though he pressed his lips to the fragile skin of her wrist, eyes trained on her face, his ears poised to listen to her breathe...Robb was afraid. He perched on the side of the bed just staring at Hazelyn's smoothed out visage as his fingers shifted up her arm to trace along the linen bandage that covered the cut she'd received. She'd been lucky it hadn't been more than that. All of his family had been lucky.
Hazelyn had worked herself into a frenzy, the bloody, violent kind that he had only heard of men having in the midst of battle. It had taken three men to pry her off the fleshy mess that had once been Bran's attacker, and still she'd fought to continue her rampage. By the end of it, one of her bloody hands had caught Robb in the face, smearing upon his cheek. He hadn't noticed it until they'd wrestled her to their bed, when her frenzied breaths had calmed and her wild eyes dimmed, exhaustion and the drugs Luwin had given her lulling her to sleep at last.
Sitting in their chamber, hours later, Robb still fought sleep. Even Grey Wind had given up on keeping vigil with him, curled up by the hearth and snoring quietly. Yet troubled thoughts plagued Robb's mind. Had he posted enough guards outside all of his family's rooms, or were they still in danger? Would they be safe come morning or were there more men waiting in the shadows to strike? What was Robb to tell his father? Was it even safe enough for him to send a raven with this information? Not to mention the clean up he had to oversee after the the library fire. Robb had so many things he needed to see to, but none that could be done at such a late hour. Was this what his father had meant, when he said he went to bed with fear? Shaking his head, he resigned himself to tossing and turning in an attempt to get at least a few hours of sleep.
But too soon, that idea of even attempting to rest slipped away with knocking on the door. "Yes?" He called, voice heavy with exhaustion.
"M'lord, it's your lady mother. She's requestin' to speak with ya."
His brows raised in confusion, Robb stood. "Send her in."
As the door opened, a shock of auburn hair in the doorway reminded him of the blood, and Robb was ashamed of the way he jumped, of how he held Hazelyn's hand just a little tighter. Very quickly he brushed the feeling aside though, shock filling him to see his mother enter the room, a composed and serious expression her face. Her hands were swathed in heavy bandages, but otherwise, she seemed the woman he'd always known before Bran's fall, with sharpness restored to her eyes and color to her cheeks.
"Mother!" He exhaled as soon as the door closed, the boy in him so relieved to see her returned to him.
"Robb." His mother's voice was low and calming, her eyes softened as she took him in. She looked as if she wanted to speak of something, but instead, her eyes moved to the woman asleep in the bed. "Is she alright?"
Robb shifted, discomforted. He would never admit it, never hint that he felt unease towards his own mother. But what man wouldn't, standing before a woman who had laughed like a mad fool in the midst of death only hours before? Her laughter had echoed down the corridor as they carried his wife away. Robb couldn't forget it and doubted he ever would. It was a sound that stuck in his ears, frightening and strange.
"She's," he cleared his dry throat. "The maester said she'll sleep a while longer. He gave sweet sleep to calm her down." Red, wet, and hot against his hands and face, thrashing weight in his arms, hysterical screams to kill a man already dead. "Bran is alright at least. Sleeping still." Thank the gods, he thought.
Catelyn stepped closer, as though approaching a frightened animal that would either flee or strike out. "My son," she paused a moment, just taking in the sight of him. Finally, she spoke, her voice hushed. "We must meet, in secret, where there are no ears to hear us."
"Why?" He asked before he could think. He knew very well, but his mind was so muddled by exhaustion, just the suggestion of it wore on him.
"There is a reason someone tried to kill your brother. I intend to find out, and there are few families out there who would enact such a plan." There was a weight to her words, something she hinted at but did not say outright. Robb was tired, and his irritation was quickly rising at her veiled words.
"Yes," he agreed, only wishing she'd leave so he could try to clear is mind. "Later. Tomorrow actually, once we've all had a rest and can listen with a level head."
His mother pursed her lips. Her fingers twitched in their bandages, as if she'd wring her hands if she could. "Of course. First light, come to my chambers to break your fast. I'll call for Luwin, Rodrick, and..." She frowned. "Who is the new captain of the guard?"
"Hallis Mollen," Robb sighed. "We best have Theon and Hazelyn there as well."
Catelyn looked at him with doubt in her eyes, and Robb felt more than a bit annoyed that she'd question his judgement when he'd been the one holding everything together while she'd been barely functional. "He's like a brother to me, and his family might be a help to us before the end. And she's my wife."
Catelyn demurred at his firm tone, though she looked as if she'd say more. "I will see you in my chambers at dawn."
After she left, Robb shucked off his boots and crawled into bed, beside his wife. He did not inch closer to hold her against him, but his hand was never far from hers. But it was no use. He tossed and turned just as he predicted he would. Eventually, giving up on sleep altogether, he rose and readied himself for another day. With the darkness of early morning not yet broken, he lit single candle and set about sharpening his sword, just to give his restless hands something to do. As he ran the glinting blade against the wet stone, Grey Wind stirred. Robb met the gaze of the growing wolf as it blinked open its amber eyes, and had a sinking feeling in his gut, as if his companion was trying to tell him something, like they were teetering on the edge of something that would change both their lives forever.
Close to dawn, he woke Hazelyn, though he wished he could leave her to rest, but whatever it was they were about to face, they needed to face it together.
"Robb?" She blinked and yawned as she slowly sat up. Robb felt a small bit of relief to see acting so normally after...what had happened the night before. But why wouldn't she?
"Sweetheart, you need to get up. My mother wanted us to break our fast with her."
Hazelyn looked confused for a moment, her eyes glancing towards the darkness outside their window, before realization filled them. Her face smoothed over into a blank expression. "She wants to discuss what happened last night?"
Robb was grateful that she seemed so calm after the traumatic event, but his gut twisted discomfort at how detached her manner now was. It was unsettling to see her go from one extreme to the next, like a weight tied to a rope, swinging one way and then the other. He only nodded in turn. She rose and got ready in equal silence while he went back to cleaning his sword, neither seemingly wanting to discuss the horrible event or her response to it.
"Do you know where my knife is?" She asked as she finished tying her dress up.
"Do you need it? We're just going to my mother's chambers."
Hazelyn frowned at him. "I always carry it."
"It's just a carving knife." Robb shrugged, hoping she would let the issue rest.
"So you're not going to wear your sword today?" Hazelyn pointed to the scabbard on his belt.
Robb shrugged. "That's different."
"Why?" Her tone was as sharp as her blade.
"Hazel-"
A knock sounded at their door. "M'lord, m'lady?" Myna's voice carried through the wood. "I've been sent to inform you Lady Stark is expecting you."
"Aye, we'll be there in a few minutes." Robb stood, sheathing his sword and turning to his wife expectantly.
"Robb." Hazelyn furrowed her brow. "I needmy knife. Where is it?"
Robb suppressed a need to squirm at the emphasis on the word and the coldness in her eyes. Yet, something in the way she fiddled with her skirts and the slight tremor in her voice showed fear. Gods, he realized with a start, she is afraid. Such a tiny fissure in her cold, hard armor, but Robb could see that her feelings ran deeper than his own. He'd been so caught up in his worries about his family's safety and her bloody hysterics, he hadn't thought about that.
And yet, he was still a little hesitant to give the blade back to her. He'd seen what she could do with it, the blood she could draw. Nonetheless, perhaps holding it would...bring her peace enough that she wouldn't close herself off to him again.
"It's in the bedside table."
"Thank you." As she retrieved it and strapped it to her leg, it glinted in the in the first rays of light slitting through the shutters, brilliant and red like the dawn. He watched her fingers as she tied the straps together, steady and precise, no longer shaking.
When she turned to him, ready to face the day, she took his arm, and for the first time since the night before, Robb felt comforted. Such a small act, one born of solidarity and support, but she wasn't pushing him away again. Perhaps one good thing, however small, had come from this mess.
The early morning sun was shining through the windows of Catelyn's chamber when they arrived, odd almost after the disturbing events of the night before. Servants had set up several trays of food; steaming rolls, honeys, jams, and fruits; but no one seemed to have much of an appetite, save for Theon, munching on a roll in the corner. Along the walls stood Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrick, and Hallis Mollen, silent and somber. After letting Hazelyn take the other seat in the room, Robb sent away the guard and barred the door.
Catelyn cast a severe gaze around the room . "I must have each of you swear you will not discuss what is about to be said in this room."
One by one, Hallis, Rodrick, and Luwin swore their ascent. She looked a bit more hesitant with Theon and Hazelyn.
"Your family has raised me since I was a boy, and Robb is a brother to me. You have my silence my lady," Theon swore, his voice earnest and without his usual mirth.
"I defended Bran last night, and I'll continue to do everything necessary to defend this family." Hazelyn shared a heavy look with his mother as she spoke, like they were remembering the brutality of the prior night. Catelyn pursed her lips for a moment before slowly nodding.
"Have you found out who the man was?" she then demanded, taking charge right away. Though Robb felt a small twinge of annoyance, he remained silent.
"Had the guards question all the castle folk. He wasn' no man of Winterfell, m'lady." Hallis shook his head.
Catelyn narrowed her eyes. "So he came with the King's company?"
"Not necessarily," Hazelyn said. "With so many new faces about, there'd be ample opportunity to slip in to the keep as extra help." She shifted in her seat as her fingers fiddled with her skirt, her hand flexing on the thigh that concealed a knife.
Robb frowned at her unease but pushed it aside for later. "No matter how he got into the keep, I'm more concerned with why that man tried to kill Bran."
Rodrick then pulled a parcel from his pocket, pulling back rags to reveal the dagger that had been used to attack Bran. "Someone probably hired him my lord. I've looked at this weapon, and it'd be far too expensive for anything the likes of that man could afford." He held the weapon up for everyone to see. "The blade is Valaryian steal, and the hilt is dragon bone. Someone would have had to supply it to him."
"Gods, who would want a sleeping child dead?!" Robb exclaimed in disgust.
"Someone who didn't want him to wake and tell what he had seen." Everyone turned at Catelyn's quiet statement.
Robb furrowed his brow. "What are you saying Mother?"
Catelyn met her son's gaze, her blue eyes filled with certainty. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower, but was thrown." The silence of the room was heavy. Robb remembered the night Bran fell, that horrible night when everything had started to go wrong. He remembered the restless anger that had him pacing like a caged animal, his gut suspecting the same thing his mother proposed. Yet once he'd had sleep and time to reason, he had written it off as a desire to have a enemy to blame and pursue, versus having to grapple with the helplessness of a senseless tragedy.
That primal part of him stirred, growling and ready to hunt down his brother's enemy, but remembering his father's lessons about restraint and wisdom, he tried to act the lord. He crossed his arms. "Why would you think that?"
"My sister sent a letter to me in the night, believing the Lannisters killed her husband and might threaten the King. That is why your father went to King's Landing." Catelyn stood, reached for something in her pocket, then held her hand near a candle. The flame illuminated a long golden thread hanging from her fingers. "And I found this at the top of the broken tower. There are none here at Winterfell who have such long, golden hair."
"The Lannisters, my lady?" Luwin asked. "Are you sure? Such an accusation cannot be made lightly without proof."
"She's- she's right." The attention of the room shifted from Catelyn and her weighty claims to the quiet girl next to her. Hazelyn seemed wilted, ready to curl in on herself, with her face blank and bone white.
Concerned, Robb stepped near his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hazel?"
Hazelyn shook her head, eyes staring into the distance, unseeing as a sheen of sweat formed in her forehead.
"Hazel." Robb gave her a small shake to break her from her trance. She froze as she abruptly shifted his eyes to his. "What are you talking about?"
Hazelyn just stared at him a long moment, her mouth opening as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
It was Maester Luwin who cajoled her out of silence. "Out with it, my lady," he said gently. "Surely something that causes you such distress is in need of giving voice to." Another moment passed and Hazelyn ran a shaking hand over her face, breathing deeply. Finally, she collected herself enough to speak, low and soft.
"I don't know who sent that man. But she's right, the Lannisters pushed Bran. Jaime Lannister pushed him for the queen."
Catelyn stepped toward Hazelyn. "How can you know that?"
"Mother." Robb held up a hand. He gave a slight shake of his head before turning back to his wife. Crouching to her eye level, he grasped her hand. "Hazel, tell what you know," he prompted, reminded of the godswood, when she had told him her real name.
"Ser Jaime did it to protect their children. I overheard the queen herself say it. And I lost our baby for it."
Robb froze, eyes wide, but before he could say a word, she kept speaking, voice quiet and shaking as her eyes turned red. She'd heard the queen and her brother in a servant's passage the morning after Bran's fall. Jaime Lannister pushed the boy to protect his and his sister's children after he saw them fucking. She'd run away before they caught her, but they somehow found out it was her that had overheard. Cersei had her to tea, and poisoned her cup with tansy as a warning against revealing their secret.
Unable to process a thought, Robb studied his wife's face after her voice had fallen back into silence. She did not look at him, turning her pale eyes away.
When his son died, Robb had wept. He'd wept and raged and wanted to march up to the gods themselves and demand they return his boy to him. That could never be, so his agony was sometimes overtaken by futile rage that would fall apart and turn to grief once again. A tired cycle, it was. Now, a different sort of pain swept over him.
Their boy had not died a natural death. Their boy had been murdered. An innocent life ripped away, and it had been nothing more than a warning in the mind of Cersei Lannister.
Beneath the shock keeping him still, a rage was growing. He wanted to kill the thing that had hurt him, to crush it, to rip it apart with his own teeth. He felt his face heat as his temper began to simmer, threatening to boil over. But as the blood roared in his ears, Hazelyn finally met his gaze again.
Shame, guilt, and absolute devastation shined behind her grey eyes. The way her jaw was set, the way her lips were parted, the way her eyes reddened with tears that would never fall. He watched her, a disbelieving huff leaving him, as something held the anger back. He couldn't loose his rage at her. No good man could ever rage against the woman who was the mother of his child, no man with honor would find satisfaction in her pain.
Gods, he thought with renewed horror. Hazelyn had suffered with the knowledge that their babe had been murdered. She had known that, slept with that, lived with that knowledge, and had done it alone. A part of him wanted to reach out and hold her, but he was too raw yet.
It was Theon Greyjoy who spoke first. For once, his laughing smiles were gone, his handsome face cold with the news none of them had expected. But even though he was the first to speak, what came out was a tiny part of what Robb wanted to say. "My Lady, I...why is it that you hid this for so long?"
Robb interjected quickly, standing up and moving in front of his wife, almost in a protective stance. "It matters not." He spoke the way a lord would, his voice hard and final. He wanted to protect Hazelyn, for that line of questioning would soon turn their shock into anger and blame. He would not let them, himself even, have room to think or speak unkindly to her.
"It matters," Catelyn replied, her eyes widening with wild determination. "When it comes out, they will question why it was kept silent. They'll say we lie in order to add weight to our claims against the Lannisters."
It was then that Hazelyn spoke in a voice that was soft. "They'd already killed my baby. I didn't want the queen to fulfill her promise and harm anyone else I loved. I have so few people in the world that I trust. I didn't wish to make that list shorter." The whole time, she never even looked at Catelyn, only Robb, pleading.
Robb glanced away quickly, turning to the wisest person in the room as he fought to keep his lordly composure in place. "Maester Luwin, what do we do with this information?"
"Lord Stark needs to be informed of everything said here today as soon as possible. This matter is too great to act on without his knowledge or direction."
"You mean do nothing!?" Theon exclaimed indignantly. "We know who maimed Bran and murdered Robb's son. Troops need to be rallied -"
"You plan to battle the Lannisters in the Great Hall, boy? Stop your foolish talk! "Rodrick snapped.
"Lord Stark must be informed before anything else is done, my lord." Luwin frowned seriously at Robb, his tone full of caution. "And it is too dangerous to send a raven. A rider should be sent."
"I'll go!" Robb spoke on impulse. If he had to act sensibly and not rally men as Theon said to get Jaime and Cersei Lannister's heads, at least he could escape the confining walls of Winterfell and help his father get justice.
"No." Catelyn raised her chin. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell and you are the Lord while your father is away. I'll go."
Robb shook his head, his curls catching the light and looking like polished copper, defiant and angry. "No, it must be me. I will go to the Red Keep, ask them why they murdered my son, and then cleave their heads from their bodies myself."
His mother sighed, looking at him sadly. "That is why it must not be you." She said it softly, gently but none could miss the steel in her words. "Your rage is too fresh, and it could make you act brashly. The last Stark who went into the Red Keep, calling out for a royal to die, was your Uncle Brandon. And both he and his father died horribly for it."
And any hope Robb had had to ride off to seek blood and vengeance died. It was decided his mother would leave as soon as she was able with only Ser Rodrick to protect her. She would travel to Kings Landing in secret to deliver the news to Father to not stir suspicion. The rest of the rest of them would sit in Winterfell...and wait.
After his mother swept out of her room without another word and the others slowly filed out, only Robb and his wife were left. He crossed his arms, staring at the window as he grappled with the jumble of emotion within him. Grief, anger, duty, frustration, rage.
"Robb?" He glanced to see Hazelyn still seated in her chair, looking at him with the same fearful and pleading expression on her face.
Robb wanted to comfort her, say the calm words to reassure her in her doubt, but he couldn't play the lord to her. The lord in him had been able to protect her from the anger of his mother and the questions of the others, but would not be able to protect her from himself.
"I have to go," he said, and he just left her alone. He knew he shouldn't, he should have stayed, but he couldn't. He let his feet lead him to a distant part of the castle, to some dank store room where even servants rarely walked. He drew his sword and brought it down on the closest crate in the room and screamed.
The sun glinted gold off Myna's hair as she plodded down through Wintertown. She hugged her cloak tighter to her form, even if the day felt warmer than usual. After she'd been woken in a panic by another servant girl late in the night, told urgently that her lady needed her, she'd not been able to sleep. Little Bran had been attacked while Lady Catelyn and Hazelyn were in his room, and the fool of a man had met his death at the end of Hazelyn's carving knife and a direwolf's jaws. Even Lord Robb had seemed disturbed by Hazelyn's blood crazed frenzy, the madness she'd only heard of gripping men in battle. After trying to help the young lord clean up her friend and put her to bed, she'd not had time to rest before Lady Catelyn's maid had fetched her to help arrange breakfast in the Lady's chambers, for some urgent meeting of sorts. She'd then been released for the morning, Lord Robb telling her he'd tend to Hazelyn and they'd be otherwise occupied the first few hours of the day.
Myna had grown up in the Dreadfort, so she'd learned not to question the secrecy surrounding the games the lords and ladies played if you knew what was good for you. Relieved to have some time to herself, she'd made the walk to Wintertown, some personal errands weighing on her. Her steps faltered as her stomach twisted in discomfort yet again, mouth swimming with saliva as a dizziness washed over her. She grimaced as her hand unconsciously slid beneath her cloak to cradle her abdomen. She took a few breaths to right herself, spitting out the disgusting excess of spit before continuing on.
The town still had a sleepy quality to it, only a few people walking the streets as they began their day, but she still tried to avoid any attention. It would only take one set of eyes to recognize her, to say something about it and before she could say a word, she'd be hauled before the Starks and humiliated. Myna weaved her way through the stone and wooden buildings, mindful to cover her nose against the smell of mud and shit as she passed the animal market. Finally, she reached her destination, the two story stone house that served as the local brothel. Everyone called it a gentleman's tavern, but they all knew it was a bawdy house. Myna brought her hood over head for before venturing inside.
The front room was emptier than it would be at other times of day, only a town drunk or two lingering about, one fumbling with dice and another snoring, passed out and reeking of ale. Mary, an older whore that had aged out of her profession but still stayed on to help run the establishment grinned when she spotted Myna.
"Ah! Myna girl, come in. Lookin' for Ros? A mite early for a drink-"
"No!" Myna snapped. She cringed as she sensed several gazes travel in her direction. She felt vulnerable, an unfamiliar emotion to her. Usually she thrived with attention, a carefree lass that could charm a guard into buying her an ale for a moment in a dark corner and then drink him under the table. Seems Jon had changed her more she thought.
"Sorry Mary. Aye, I'd like to see Ros."
The older woman had a concerned frown on her face as she nodded. "Alright then lass, come on back to the sitting room."
Myna followed her back to the small sitting room where she'd often socialize with Ros and some of the other girls if they didn't go drinking at the tavern. The office and break room of sorts for the workers, it and the ladies that used it had become familiar to Myna over the last few months. Despite her initial discomfort when Hazelyn had brought her there on the eve of her wedding, Myna had taken her up her mistress's practice, becoming a friend of the local ladies who made their business in the dark. Ros and her girls came from all walks of life. They had amusing tales to share, and their company felt a welcome relief to the stuffy sorts of the castle. They had a hundred years of knowledge, far more than any stupid, blushing maiden.
Myna felt guilty about it at times. Hazelyn hadn't been able to come to town since her pregnancy had become apparent, and Myna didn't mention how often she'd come down to share a pint with girls at the tavern either. They used tell each other everything, but Hazelyn had kept her secrets and had come to have her own life, the life of a lady. Myna figured she could do the same. Though none of those small secrets were quite as heavy as the one she suspected she carried now.
She sat in one of the threadbare chairs of the little sitting room, glancing between the grey ash of the hearth and her fingers. "You want some tea dear? I got mint brewin'," Mary kindly offered, concern making the crow's feet around her eyes stand out.
"Thanks." Myna tried to smile, but it came out a grimace.
"I'll get you a cuppa and fetch Ros." The older woman left the room with little more than a silent scrap of the wooden door, not pressing Myna, like she already knew. Myna looked down at her necklace, the tiny golden bear rampant with the smallest chunks of obsidian for eyes, running the pad of her finger over it in comfort.
She wished her mother was here. She'd know how to fix this. She'd always known how to fix everything. Whenever she or Hazelyn had woken frightened in the night, her mother had been the first there to shush them, before Elena even. She'd give them a smile that shined like the sun, breaking up the dark storm clouds of fear brewing in their minds, soothe them with gentle words, then sing with the sweetest voice to chase the bad dreams away. Myna yearned for her mother now more than she ever had in the ten years since she'd died, killed by a bout of sweating sickness that had swept through the Dreadfort. She'd know what to do, have the right words soothe Myna's worries and regrets, arms full and warm as they wound around her, protecting her from the world around them.
But would she? Myna's fingers turned white as she squeezed her bear pendant. Her mother had been a good woman, an honorable one, a fact which Myna would never let anyone forget, much less herself. So, would her mother be disappointed in her? Ashamed that her daughter had made the same mistake she had all those years ago? Myna took a shuddering breath, pushing the speculation from her mind. She'd never know for certain, because her mother was gone. So Myna turned to the only older woman in her life she felt she could trust with such a matter.
"Luv?" Ros called out her familiar greeting as she pushed open the door. She wore a light green dress that highlighted her concerned green eyes, her red hair slightly a kilter like she'd just risen for the day. "I was shocked to hear you'd come out to see me at such an early hour." She frowned as she closed the door behind her, a cup of steaming liquid in hand. She came to sit right next Myna, offering up mint tea as she pulled her own chair closer to younger girl's.
"Thanks." Myna took the cup and sipped the brew, having learned how unwise it was to guzzle things down in her current state.
Ros studied Myna with a knowing gaze that made her squirm as she drank. The red head gave a quiet sigh as Myna brought the cup from her lips. "Ya sure didn't come down here to share a drink did ya?"
Myna shook her head, staring down at the warm tea in her hands. "No. I... I think I might be..." The words got stuck in her throat.
A beat passed, the gorgeous red-head watching her steadily, not a trace of malice in her warm eyes. "Who is he?" Ros asked.
Myna glanced up at her. "What?"
"Your babe's father." Her eyes were sympathetic but her tone so matter of fact, it surprised Myna.
"How do you know I'm-"
"You've been with a man recently?" Ros tilted her head. Myna nodded. "You're sick to your stomach, your smelling is off, your moods are out of sorts, and your tits are starting to ache?" The read head listed of the symptoms, and to each Myna nodded.
Ros sighed, pursing her lips. "When you've been in my line of work as long as I have luv, recognizing a woman with child becomes a vital skill. As careful as we try to be, it happens more often than you might think, and a girl's whole livelihood can be affected by it. There's things you can do, thing's you'll have to do if you want a roof over your head."
Myna shivered at that last part, suddenly nervous about her own position. She'd always taken her close bond to Hazelyn for granted, confident it would protect her position. But this... "Have you been in this...situation before?"
To her surprise, the red headed whore nodded, the corner of her mouth turning down into a grimace, her eyes shifting away to the rafters above them. "A few times. And one of the girls probably every few months."
Myna's brows raised. "I've never seen any of you with child though, or any child running around here."
Ros shrugged, sighing. "Every brothel is different. Some let a girl be a mother when she's not working. We don't. Most girls are local with some sort of family nearby to take the babes in, or another knows of a family wanting a child. It's usually best a child be raised on a farm than in a whore house. And that's if they choose to have them."
Myna recoiled in her chair. "Choose to have them?"
Ros frowned at her. "You work in a place like this long enough, you learn things. Generally, it can't be too big before you get rid of it." When Myna remained silent, too baffled for words, the woman continued, her voice factual. "A woman's body isn't the same after carrying and birthing a child, and men don't come here to crawl up inside their wives. Too many babes might wear your body out too quickly. We can't really afford to have a babe every time a mistake is made."
Myna cringed at the word mistake, her fingers brushing over her navel. "You can get rid of a baby that easy?" She asked. She was a bit shocked. It was really that simple? Then why had her mother had her?
"As long as it's small enough. But it all depends how long it's been. And it's not the only option." Ros gently gripped her arm in a manner of reassurance.
The sympathy in Ros' tone annoyed some small prideful part of Myna, but she knew she had no leg to stand on. "What else could you possibly do?"
Ros squeezed Myna's elbow. "Well, that depends on the baby's father. Do you know who it is?"
Myna swallowed, her tongue feeling like lead as she uttered the name. "Jon Snow, Lord Stark's bastard son." It came out a whisper.
Ros' green eyes widened at finding out that the stern faced boy, who'd only ever come to brothel a few times, brooding in a corner of the lounge and turning away offers while waiting for his friends, had left an unwed girl with babe. "Isn't he the honorable sort though, like his father?"
Myna tensed, feeling defensive. "Everyone called Lord Stark honorable and then he brought home a bastard. Not so saintly when he sired another woman's son. Neither was Jon." As soon as she said it, Myna felt guilt at her words. Because he was a good man, the best man she'd ever known and she knew he was the sort, resisting her at every turn, trying push her away, and then offering marriage at the last moment, ready to give up everything he really wanted just for a child. "And he's gone off to join the Night's Watch, so it doesn't matter either way."
Ros pursed her lips. "Mayhaps you could some how get a message to him, before he says his words. The other option I was talking about was, sometimes, some men of are willing to marry a girl if he knows a babe is his. Not many, but he seems the sort."
"No." Myna shook her head. "He's taken the black and he wouldn't return." That wasn't even a choice Myna was willing to entertain. A part of her told her it was her own pride, but she knew Jon would've never wanted to stay behind at Winterfell with a wife and babe. No matter what he'd said last time they'd spoken, it was just his grief talking. He'd would've come to resent her for keeping him from his dream of being a ranger.
Ros heaved a sigh. "Well then, the way I see it, you've got a few options. You can get rid of the babe; I can get you the proper concoction from the midwife that'll have you pass it in a few days, like it was no more than a heavy monthly. If you have family somewhere else, you could go to live with them and have the baby, then stay or leave the child if they're willing to take them. Or you could just keep the child, and tell Hazel." Both women exchanged heavy glances. They knew in their own ways the heavy weight a woman who had a child unwed had to bare. Men could have bastards, and no one would bat an eye. If a woman had one without the excuse of being a widow, she often was met with scorn. And it was a particularly precarious place to be as a noble lady's maid. Hazelyn had just lost her own baby too...
After a moment of silence, Ros pursed her lips and stood. "Come on luv, let's go to the mid wife together, see if this is something to worry about at all, then you can decide."
Myna hardly recalled the walk back the castle later, her mind swirling with a thousand thoughts at once. Too many to understand exactly what she felt, to think of what she should do after she climbed the steps and walked through Winterfell's gates.
But always, her thoughts returned to Ros and the soft look she had given her after the truth came out, after they'd learned that Myna carried a life inside her. She had never seen her red haired friend look so...solemn. Myna didn't want to think it was a look of pity, but how could it not be? She was a lady's maid, a low born woman in a fine position next to the wife of a lordling. If she served anyone else, gods if she served Lady Catelyn, Myna had no doubt she would be cast out in disgrace.
For the first time, Myna was truly afraid. Hazelyn was her best friend, her sister in every way but in blood, but would that affection remain as strong when...when...
Hazelyn was a lady, and one day she would be the most powerful woman north of the Neck. How could she defend having a sullied maid in her service?
Myna hated to think of it so coldly, her years of love and friendship with Hazelyn often made the divide between them seem less rigid.
By the time she slipped through the servant's entrance near the kitchens, she was freezing. For a moment, she wished she were a girl again, so she could crawl into bed next to her mother or Hazelyn and warm her feet by pressing them against her bedmate's legs. The thought shifted, and suddenly she wished more than anything that stupid, honorable Jon Snow was not so honorable, so she could slip into his bed and wind herself around him, warm and safe and comforted.
But it was just a hope, weak and useless and taunting.
It was nearing midday, and Myna had seen hide nor hair of her friend since the dawn. She wondered where Hazelyn would be at this hour. Would they even have time enough to talk? With everything going on with the Stark family, would Hazelyn have the time or kindness to deal with Myna? Or would Myna be cast out as soon as she uttered the words? Myna felt cold glass shift against her sweaty palm as she tightened her fingers around the vile in her hand. Should she say nothing at all, when the whole trouble of it could be forgotten about with a drink?
She could go back to her chambers, brew the tea, and let nature take its course. No had to know, she'd be secure in the position she'd always held. A maid servant and companion, completely dependent on another girl for friendship, purpose, and well being. She'd never had a choice to be in that position. It had just always been. She had a choice now though.
Heaving in a deep breathe, Myna marched towards Hazelyn's room. Myna didn't have to make any decisions at that moment, she decided. She'd just check on Hazelyn, and go from there.
'One step at a time sweetling,' her mother had taught her when she was an impatient little girl, learning the meticulous process of mending. 'You can't fix it all at once. Just one stitch, and then another, and it'll all come together.' Myna nodded, taking another step, and another. She was just going to check on Hazelyn. Nothing unusual. See the situation and step out, then she'd think more on it. More assured, Myna raised her chin, tucked the vial in her hand away in her pocket.
The door was closed, so Myna rapt succinctly on it. "M'lady, m'lord?" She asked, in case others were around. She was greeted by silence. She rapt again, then slowly twisted the latch, and it gave way. She pushed the door open slightly, peeking in. "Zel?" She called out. She heard soft rustling, but nothing more.
She entered the room to find a familiar scene. Hazelyn sat curled up in a chair, staring blankly at the wall. Myna swallowed before sighing heavily. "Zel?" She approached slowly, careful about reaching out. "What's going on?" Myna asked softly, her usual fire, one that had once been so ready to rouse Hazelyn from her mood, was doused, dimmed into a flicker. She felt too tired. She sat in a chair beside Hazelyn, shifting her eyes to the piece of wall her friend focused so hard on. There was something to be said about brooding in silence. It sort of froze you in time, let you avoid facing your problems at least for a while. Maybe Hazelyn and Jon had been on to something.
After a few moments of stony silence, she felt a pair of eyes turn to her. "Why are you so quiet?"
"What would you have me say?" Myna turned towards Hazelyn. She looked so pale. Her cheeks were drained of color, taking on a pale lifelessness similar to her eyes. Only the whites of her eyes stood out, slightly red and swollen. She looked more drawn than she had when her brother had died.
"I don't know." Hazelyn shook her head. "Something. You always say something. Why aren't you?" She grabbed onto Myna's hand, making the maid jump, mostly because her hands were ice. At first she thought Hazelyn's words accusatory, but then she saw the desperation shining in her friend's eyes.
"What is it Zel?" She squeezed Hazelyn's fingers, putting aside her own troubles for her friend as she always did, relieved her own problem could be avoided a while longer.
"They all hate me now," Hazelyn whispered, turning her gaze back to the wall.
"Who?"
"The Starks, or at least Catelyn does. And Robb I'm almost certain...And the rest will, soon enough. Once it all comes out."
"Why?" Myna raised her brows.
"I shouldn't say." Hazelyn bit her lip and fisted her skirt. "I shouldn't, I promised, but I don't know..." Her face began to crumble.
"You can tell me anything." Myna frowned. "You know that."
"I knew the queen and her brother pushed Bran, I knew WHY. I knew, but didn't tell anyone, didn't trust anyone, I...she's the queen and a bloody Lannister. How could I..." it wasn't quite a question, and by the end of it, Hazelyn looked away, sniffing sharply. "And the queen killed my babe for it."
Myna's eyes widened in shock. Hazelyn looked scared, as though expecting a blow, or a shrieked word, or even a stony slience that only ended when she slammed the door behind her. But Myna felt no urge to do anything of the sort. There was only suprise. And horror. "The bloody Lannisters. What, why-"
Hazelyn spoke in a rush of words, all in one breath. "Bran saw them fucking, and they pushed him to protect their children. I overheard them!" Another sniff, punctuated by the way Hazelyn's hair swished against her face when she shook her head. "I didn't say a word, and when the queen found out, she drugged me with moon tea, to warn me. I still didn't say a word, not until Lady Catelyn accused the Lannisters anyway, and now -" Her voice rose in register, dissolving into a sob near the end.
Myna hugged her friend, letting Hazelyn burrow in her shoulder. As she felt the tears on her dress and Hazelyn's silently shaking shoulders, Myna tried to think of words of comfort to offer, something Elena would say.
She felt sick to think she had the ingredients in her pocket for the very thing had caused her friend such pain and harm.
"I'm pregnant." The words fell from her lips before she could think about what she was saying.
Hazelyn pulled back abruptly. "What?" Her eyes were wide.
Myna stared back at her, eyes equally wide in shock. "I'm pregnant, with Jon's baby."
A long drawn out moment passed where nothing was said between them. A look of wide eyed fear took over Myna's face. She trembled in the face of such revelation, studying Hazelyn's expression intently. For her part, Hazelyn's face was tight with shock.
Finally, surprise gave way and curiosity swept in. "I-uh," Hazelyn puffed out a breath, cheeks inflating. Her head shook once. "Uhm, how far?"
Myna cleared her throat, not sure what to expect. "Not too far along. A little more than a moon," she replied, as though answering a question about when dinner would be served.
Then, the tension fell from Hazelyn's shoulders all at once. A startled laugh left her lips, a smile stretching across her face.
"Thanks, at least, for taking my mind away from the Lannisters." A dark joke, but one desperately needed to break the chill of the room, and usher in a warm kindness. It was not quite an understanding, for how could they truly understand the other's circumstances without having lived it? Even then, within the presence of each other, Hazelyn and Myna felt an understanding that was deeper than words or experience.
"Wait." Hazelyn's brow arched. "It's Jon's baby?" She asked, like that one fact had just hit her.
Myna closed her arms around her middle and glanced at her feet, feeling defensive and slightly ashamed at the same time. "Well, yes. I wouldn't just go sleep with some stranger right after he left."
A look of thunderous rage overtook the other woman's features. "He lay with you and left you with child!? That craven bas-
"No!" Myna shook her head, hands tightening around Hazelyn's cold ones. "Zel, I just found out myself. There's no way he'd have known."
"-But he knew well it could have been a good possibility after slept you together. He just abandoned you without a thought-!"
"Because I told him to leave. I didn't want his help. And in a few days time, there may not be any child to fret over anyway."
The silence that stretched out was shorter than the first, and the air was not quite so cold this time, but still, it made Myna fidget and want desperately to be anywhere else.
"What do you mean?"
"I..." Myna licked her lips. "I saw a woman, to confirm what I was afraid of, and she...she said there are ways. F...for an expecting woman not to be expecting anymore." She said it as delicately as she could, but it was not soft enough and Hazelyn suddenly tightened her hands.
"You mean moon tea?" Her voice was not unkind, not cold...but toneless. Lifeless. A shell.
Reluctantly, Myna nodded, not meeting Hazelyn's eyes once more. "I-I didn't want to say anything, but I saw her, I got the proper plans and I just..." Tears began to fill her eyes, hot and burning. "I feel like I can't take one step farther without feeling like I'm drowning in it, being pulled down. And I," a gasp rose in her throat, a lump coming up with it. "I-I-I have a hundred reasons to brew that tea and drink it without a second thought and forget." Myna's body curled forward then, barely choking down a sob. "But I couldn't just do it, and I've confessed it all to you and you can throw me out on the street with nothing to my name and I-" another sob. "I'm here, and I don't know what to do."
Myna's heart thundered in her ears, loud as war drums as she wept. She felt small, foolish. Because of Jon Snow. And because she wept about wanting to end the life inside her, while keenly aware the girl across from her had lost one not long before.
It took Myna a long while to realize there was a hand in her hair, not sharp and twisting, but kind and gentle. "You and I are different, Myna." Hazelyn murmured softly. "What I long for is not what you long for. What I lost, is not what you will lose. Or, what you will have, is not what I would have had. We are different. Different shades of the same color, but different all the same." Finally, Myna found the heart to look her sister in the eye. They were warm, and that was all she wanted in the world at that moment. "Take the tea, and your place will be as it was, always at my side. And if you don't, you place will remain as it always has. By my side."
Myna let out another sob, silly as she felt for it, and hugged Hazelyn tight. Hazelyn embraced her just as tightly.
At least assured in the protection of her lady and friend, Myna stayed the rest of the day with Hazelyn, into the night. It escaped neither girl's notice that Lord Robb did not return to his room, despite the late hour. Myna offered to seek him out for Hazelyn, but she declined. Despite the hurt in her eyes, her expression only looked tired, her tears shed for that day. "I pushed him away many a day in my grief. I won't begrudge him a night," she replied, curling up next to Myna on the bed. After exhaustion claimed her, Myna doused the candles in the chamber and draped a bed fur across Hazelyn. She approached the hearth, it's fire flickering orange and gold in a room of shadow.
She reached into her pocket and removed the vial containing the concoction to make moon tea. She held the it up to the fire light, the dark liquid inside looking purple. All Northerners knew that winter was coming. But with what Hazelyn had told her today, even Myna, though she was no warrior, knew what else was coming, probably far sooner than winter; war. And the babe in her stomach had wolf's blood, Stark blood. Bastard's bastard or no, that might mean something, something a child so young should never have to deal with. Myna wondered if she even wanted to bring a babe into such a world when she knew what was coming. Weren't mothers supposed to protect their children? But when she closed her eyes, all she could see is a little child, one that had Jon's face, his rare smile.
Myna pursed her lips, wiping a tear away as it leaked out of the corner of her eye. Wolf blood or not, this baby would be hers, and hers alone, no matter what. She'd give anything to protect them, so nothing else mattered. A sudden fulfillment settling in her chest, Myna tossed the vial into the hearth. The glass cracked in the heat of the flame, and the concoction bubbled and fizzled away. Myna would have return to Wintertown to repay Ros for the potion, for the kindness she had shown her in providing her a choice. It just wasn't the one for her. Playing with her bear pendant, she let her other hand briefly brush over her navel, the smallest of smiles playing over her lips before she turned away from the fire to curl up next to Hazelyn under the fur, just as the had as little girls, with simpler lives and futures more
A fortnight had passed and they had made it well into the Riverlands. Catelyn had never traveled in such rough conditions or so lightly, but she and Ser Rodrick couldn't draw notice. At first, she'd thought to take a ship to King's Landing, but if the Queen even thought that there might be a possibility that Hazelyn would break her silence, it was likely she'd have eyes on Winterfell, Luwin had said. Mayhaps even in Winterfell. The thought made Catelyn's stomach turn. Catelyn and the master at arms had left in the dead of night, under the guise of an old merchant and his sister traveling down the King's Road for business. Ser Rodrick suggested the less people interacted with, the better. Less mouths to whisper in the ears of spies. For anyone listening in Winterfell, she'd have left with a contingent of guards to visit her ailing father in Riverrun. Not an unbelievable story. Edmure had told her when he'd come to Robb's wedding that their father had not been well.
Catelyn took a deep breathe as she stared at her reflection in the clear creek she knelt by. As she scooped some of the cool water into her hands, she could see the creases that formed around her brows as she lowered them. She looked so much older than the last time she had been in the Riverlands. She felt older. She closed her eyes as she splashed the water on her face, trying to ease the tension in her jaw. Even though the water soaked through her bandages and made her scarred hands ache, it was a welcome relief all the same.
She blinked as she turned her face upward, wiping droplets from her skin. Emerald leaves from the surrounding trees shifted above in a passing breeze, giving the warm sunlight a greenish hue. The weather had grown significantly warmer as they'd made their way south of the Neck. She glanced over to see Ser Rodrick tending to the horse pulling his fake merchant wagon. The northman had long shed his furs and cloak. His forehead glistened with a slight sheen of sweat, unused to the warmer climate as he was. Catelyn couldn't say she was displeased with the warmer weather, but neither had she been able to enjoy it. All her energy, every waking thought she had, was consumed with fear and worry for her family, and how she could protect them.
A part of her admittedly had wanted to goad her son into calling the banners. Fan the sparks of temper he'd inherited from her into flames of war and revenge. No good could come of that though. The anger she'd seen in his eyes, one born of youth and what Ned called the "wolf's blood", had been similar to the kind she'd seen in Brandon once. And that rage had seen Brandon, his father, and countless others killed. The nightmarish image of it instead being Robb with that glazed over look of death in his eyes, of Ned's head set on a spike by an enraged queen, of her daughters shackled in the black cells, rotting away, was enough to stay her tongue.
She sighed as she rose from the river bank, brushing the dirt off her dress and tying the scarf back over her head that hid her Tully red hair. It was best no one recognized her, not even her father's banner men. Luwin was right, she had to get to Ned undetected above all else, so she could tell him what she knew. Ned was strong, steady, and level headed. He'd not fly off into a rage as his older brother Brandon would have, and he would know the best way to approach the king. Reaching him would not be an easy feat when he dwelt in the same keep as a lion queen and her brother on the prowl for anyone trying to carry their terrible secret to the king.
"My lady, we should-"
"Rodrick, you musn't call me that, remember?" Catelyn raised her brow in warning.
"Pardon, sister," Rodrick said, the word sounding stilted on his tongue. He bowed his head with the same always, even if his words could not reflect such. "We should start on the road again, after you change your bandages." Catelyn felt her lips turn upward in amusement , despite their serious situation. She had known the man for years, he'd worked with Ned as one of his most trusted advisers, yet he'd never forget his courtesies, no matter his familiarity.
"Very well, brother," she chuckled slightly. She made her way to the back of the wagon, reaching among the boxes that had been loaded on to make their ploy look convincing, and pulled out the satchel Maester Luwin had filled with supplies for her bandages. As she went back to the front of the wagon and pulled herself up into the seat, her hands ached in protest under the sodden linen covering them. Her fingers felt clumsy as she unwound the ruined material and pulled out new linen strips and salve. When she pulled the old bandages away, deep red fissures crusted with scabs revealed themselves, marring her once smooth, white palms. Maester Luwin said there would they would heal, but it would leave nasty scars and that she would always feel some pain. He said she'd been lucky she'd kept use of her hands, when the dagger had cut down to the bone.
As Catelyn smeared some salve across the cuts and then tied the strips of linen into new bandages, she couldn't help but make a comparison to her family. They'd been cut to the core by the violence enacted on them by the lions, and while they would heal, they would always bare scars from this horrible time. Bran would never walk, under the very best of outcomes, and Catelyn's first grand child would forever lay still in a cold stone crypt. And try as she might, doing everything she could to protect her family and bandage over the harm that had been done, they'd always feel the pain from these days, and come out different, scarred.
After she tucked the satchel away, she waited for her "brother" to finish tending to the horse. A few minutes later, the beast had been tacked up and Rodrick returned to the wagon seat beside her, ushering the animal toward the road again.
She and Rodrick carried a light conversation here or there, but for the most part they traveled in silence. Neither wanted to risk giving their identity away, for all of it would take is the wrong words falling on one greedy traveler's ears. The silence didn't discomfort her though. It was one of trust and surety to keep the secrets of the Northern family they'd both sworn their lives to.
Catelyn tried to force herself to relax, clearing all thoughts of her children and husband out of her head. She took in the greenery around her, fed by the many rivers that crisscrossed the land of her birth. She savored the warmth on her skin of the soft summer breezes, so much gentler than their norther counterparts. She took in the smell of a southern summer, of the fresh water of a river nearby, of the mud and silt of its banks. Her thoughts carried her back to the summers of her girlhood, where she'd scamper along the banks of the Red Fork with Lysa and Petyr, making mud pies and tricking poor little Petyr into eating them, feeling the sediment between her toes as she splashed Lysa in the shallows. How worry free she had been, before the wolves entered her life.
She was jolted back to the present when the wagon came to an abrupt stop. Catelyn looked to Rodrick in alarm as the old warrior tensed, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword as his eyes darted back and forth over the underbrush and surrounding wood.
"Rodrick, what is-"
A loud snap of a stick announced their presence. The steel of Rodrick's sword rang as he drew it from the scabbard, while men garbed in dirty linen and mismatched armor emerged from the undergrowth.
"Wha' we got 'ere lads?" One of them laughed. He smacked his lips loudly as he chewed on something.
Rodrick lifted his sword as he growled. "You best let us on our way, boy. We're only a merchant wagon going to sale out wears. I won't give you trouble if you don't give me any."
"A merchant, eh?" The man asked, seemingly the leader of the bunch. He crept closer to wagon. Catelyn cringed as he spit on the ground and then gave them a smile of red stained teeth. Sour Root, a disgusting plant. "Why not let us take a look at your wears then, ol' man?"
"I have business to attend down the road. If you want out furs, you can buy them in a market. Not before. Now let us pass," Rodrick demanded in a harsh tone. Too harsh perhaps, Catelyn thought, for a merchant.
"We too good for your business?" The man snorted. He fixed his eyes on Catelyn. "Wha' does the lady have to say about it? You're a fine piece of mink."
"You'll not speak to my kin that way!" Rodrick pointed his blade at the ruffian. "Now let us pass."
"I don' think we will. Lads?" The man sneered. He looked to his companions. Catelyn's stomach dropped as she realized the men had formed a circle around their wagon and had crept forward as their leader exchanged taunts with Ser Rodrick. "We've been hearin' talk that some high and fancy lady was payin' well for the heads of northmen, and higher still for one with whiskers like yours. And I think me and the lads could have a good deal of fun with the piece of mink right here." Just as he reached a hand to brush against Catelyn's skirt, Rodrick's blade came down in a flash of silver. Catelyn felt something warm spray on her dress as the man let out a howl of pain.
"My lady, get down!" Rodrick yelled as he rushed down from the wagon to fight the brigands. Catelyn threw herself to the back of the wagon, trying to shelter herself amongst the crates and bundles of fur. As she pressed her face close to the wooden floor of the wagon, she still heard the yelling of the fight and screaming of men being cut down. The wagon jostled as men bumped against it and pulled at it. She closed her eyes tight as she murmured a prayer the Warrior to keep let See Rodrick prevail against their many foes while her fingers fumbled for a dagger she she'd stowed away on her hip, just in case. Her prayer got interrupted when their horse, which had been pawing and neighing in alarm before, let out a terrible scream and the wagon tipped abruptly forward. Catelyn was thrown along with the wagon's other contents against the hard wood of the wagon's front seat. She gritted her teeth as her head exploded in pain. She opened her eyes and looked up just in time to see the bandit leader grab at her with his uninjured hand. She struggled as he pushed her down with his arm and grinned at her with those horrible red teeth. "You're no spring chicken but pretty enough. Now lets see that hair."
Catelyn shouted in pain as he yanked off her scarf with his injured hand, getting blood on her cheek and pulling some of her hair in the process. "Kissed by fire! We have a lucky one lads!" The man shouted. In the instance he looked away to shout to his companions, Catelyn's clumsy fingers had finally managed to get a solid grip on the dagger. She shouted as she drew it out, slashing blindly at the man's face. He let out a scream of pain and loosened his grip on her just a bit. Catelyn tried to push against him, but then his grip tightened. She spotted the damage she'd done to him, a deep gash across his cheek to his nose, as he glared down at her. "You'll suffer for that bitch!" He gritted through his teeth. Just as she was about to try and slash at him again, there was sickening crunch as something impacted the back of the man's head. His sneering face went slack. Catelyn cringed as his body dropped against hers. With all the effort she could muster, she pushed the man off her as more ringing steel and shouts of what sounded like more men assaulted her ears.
As Catelyn found her feet, clutching at her dagger, she glanced around the clearing to see more armed men had indeed joined the fight. Men in chain mail and more expensive armor donned in livery cut down the bandits. Once all of the brigands were dead, she could pick out the silver eagle of Mallister, the black bats of her mother's birth house, the Whents, the dead weirwood of the Backwoods, and the silver trout of her own birth house. Catelyn stood still, a bit panicked. None could recognize her. Maybe if she could find her scarf and hide her hair before any of them could see, she and Rodrick could keep up their ruse. Yes, surely...
"My lady!" Catelyn cringed as she heard Ser Rodrick call out. Her defeat though quickly turned to concern when she saw his bloodied and bruised state. He had a deep gash in his thigh, making him barely able to hobble over to her with the help of another warrior.
"Rodrick!" She rushed over, wringing her hands. "Are you alright? How badly did they hurt you?
Rodrick managed a tiny smile. "I've had worse my lady."
"His gashes are deep though. I wouldn't recommend travelin' alone."
Catelyn turned to the man supporting him. "Thank you for helping us, good ser. Our situation would have turned dire otherwise."
"We'd never allow bandits to hurt innocent folk. Though I'm sure Lord Hoster would be even more upset if we let his daughter come to harm Lady Catelyn. I insist we escort you wherever you're headed."
Catelyn blanched as she glanced down to see the Tully sigil on the man's chest. "Riverun, good ser. That's where we were headed. To see my father, " Catelyn lied, resignation and worry sitting heavy in her chest.
Bran never fell, but he was falling. Falling, falling, falling, through an endless darkness. Bran sobbed, daring not to look down to see how close the ground was. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain of impact, but it didn't come. "Why are you crying?" Something cawed at him. Bran blinked open his eyes in surprise. Wiping away his tears with his sleeve, he blinked when he saw a raven flapping its wings next to him.
"I'm falling! I'm going to hit the ground!" Bran shouted.
"Then why are you crying? Fly!" The raven flapped its wings hard for emphasis.
"That's easy for you to say! You have wings!" Bran waves his arms helplessly.
"So do you!" The raven mocked.
Bran reached his hand over his shoulder, groping at his back for any sort of appendage.
"Not those kind of wings! Now fly!"
The raven drew close to Bran. Bran frowned when he noticed something odd about the bird; it had a third eye, right above its two normal ones. Shaking his head, Bran did a double take. Three eyes still. Something strange stirred in Bran. He looked up as the formless darkness started shifting into shadows, a tall one with the head of a dog, two smaller ones with tails of lizards, one giant with a spindly crown, and even smaller ones with eyes of gold. But biggest among them was a golden man, a knight. Bran's gut twisted in fear.
"No!" The raven screeched. "Fly!" Bran shouted as he felt a sharp pain in the middle of his forehead where the raven leaned forward and pecked him above his nose and between his two eyes. But instead of fading, the pain grew. Bran clutched his forehead. "What did you do to me?!" He screamed at the raven.
"Fly!" The raven cawed. "Fly! FLY!"
Suddenly, Bran felt weightless. He threw out his arms as if in instinct, and he flew. As he glided through the air, the raven banking beside him, the darkness receded. Bran looked west, where he saw the tall cliffs of the Westerlands, the blue waters of the Sunset Sea beating against them. He looked east. He saw the Free Cities he'd been taught about on the shores across the Narrow Sea, vast seas of grass beyond where a silver dragon nested, even further east still, to the Shadowlands, where strange, rare creatures stirred in its darkness.
Bran looked south to the shores of Dorne, where the Summer Sea mixed with red sand of its beaches. He then looked to to the Riverlands, where Mother was riding in a boat down the Tumblestone with Ser Rodrick and several other armed men towards Grandfather's home of Riverrun. But, instead of being happy, she was silent, resigned, and sad, tears of blood streaming down her cheeks. Or, maybe, it was her hair falling over her face in the wind.
He looked to home, to Winterfell. He saw the heart tree in the Godswood, somber and crying tears of sap. Robb knelt before it, leaning on a sword in earnest prayer. He soon raised his head and open his eyes, still blue, but a deeper and stranger blue than Bran had ever seen. He stood and turned to Theon, who stood a little ways off, his sandy hair now turned as grey as the skies often above Winterfell. Bran saw Rickon, dancing with his wolf and other wild things down in the crypts, shadows dancing too close to the firelight, dying for their eagerness to join in. He spotted Hazelyn curled up in bed with her friend Myna, his good sister strangely swathed in mist and shadow while the other girl shone with an unshakable golden light.
Bran looked farther North to the Wall, where he saw Jon laying in a cold cell in a Castle Black, holding a what looked like an arrowhead. He stoked it with a finger, a sorrowful expression on his face, not noticing he was lying on pyre with burning flame surrounding him. The flame licked against his skin, but he paid it no mind. In fact, he burrowed deeper, as though the flames were the warmest of blankets.
Bran looked farther North, past a haunted forest, a range of mountains sharp as fangs, over frozen plains, where no plants grew and no rivers flowed, it was so cold. It was even too cold to snow, he noted with surprise. He looked to the end of the world, where a curtain of light forever danced in the sky, and something deep, ancient, and frozen stirred. He looked past the curtain of light, to the very heart of winter. Bran screamed; what he saw made him cry. Something about it was familiar, but also strangely alien. It was terribly sad, but also utterly terrifying, it's pain too everlasting to make it gentle or timid. Now, it was only angry. It saw him, pulled him down. Bran lost his weightless sensation and began to fall again. He fell quickly towards tall and sharp spires of ice, where the bones of a thousand other dreamers were skewered. "Help me!" He reached out to the strange, three-eyed raven still flying next to him.
"Fly or die! Fly or die!" It called back, mocking him. Bran howled in terror as the spires rushed up to meet him. Then his eyes opened and he heard the mournful howl of his wolf. He shifted up in bed to look at his not so small brown pup curled next to him in his blankets. "I'm sorry about your sister," he said, stroking creature's ears in comfort. He looked up to see old Nan sitting next to him, her knitting dropped in her lap as she stared at him in surprise. "His name his Summer," he told her, nodding to his wolf.
Hope it was a good return after a long hiatus and thank you for your time. A review to share thoughts and opinions would mean a lot. Here's to hoping for a better year! Cheers!