Author's Note: I started publishing this story under a different name ages ago. The Starks won't make an appearance for a few chapters. I know we all love them, but for the sake of storytelling, I've decided to focus on Nyssa's journey in the beginning, so that she feels more established with the canon cast. Fear not, dear readers. Robb will arrive on the scene before too long. Your patience will be rewarded :)

Nyssa struggled to hold Gosta. "My father," he raged, "I must go to him!" He broke free of Nyssa, but only for a moment, before she flung herself at his back with all her might, knocking them both to the ground. She straddled him, using the weight of her body to hold him down as he thrashed beneath her. His fist flew towards her. She was not quick enough to avoid the blow to her temple, but still she did not let him go.

"He's gone," she said, panting, her head spinning from what she'd seen at camp and from Gosta's strike. "Listen to me, there's nothing you can do!"

Gosta did not seem to hear her. He struck again and this time she toppled sideways. She lay on the ground, black spots marring her vision, and once they'd cleared she saw Gosta was gone, running towards camp. Iona crouched beside her and wiped the blood from Nyssa's face with trembling hands. Her own face was almost as white as the dead.

"We can't let him go alone," she said, looking after Gosta. Everything inside of Nyssa screamed not to go back. For a moment, she meant to take Iona's hand and keep running until they both dropped from exhaustion, but one look at her sister's face changed her mind. Iona was right. They could not let Gosta go alone.

"You should wait here," said Nyssa. "I'll find him and come back for you."

"You'll need me," said Iona, still trembling. "He won't come willingly."

Again Nyssa knew her sister was correct, but she balked at the idea of taking her into camp, to the horrors waiting for them there. Iona was no warrior. She cried every time a lamb was slaughtered. The sight at camp, everyone they'd ever known dead, would be too much for her, and yet Nyssa saw no other way of retrieving Gosta without her.

"Stay close to me," she said. Together, they hurried back to camp, leaving their baskets of fish spilled across the ground. It did not take them long to reach the settlement. The quiet and the cold had not changed. Iona took her sister's hand as they passed the first tent with the little girl lying just where Nyssa had left her. She tried not to look at the dead. It was impossible not to as they stepped over the corpses of their tribesmen. Iona wept silently. Neither of them dared call out.

They found Gosta clinging to his father's body. Iona let go of Nyssa's hand to kneel beside him, but Nyssa could go no further. There was no wind now telling her to run, still she knew they could not stay here long. She could not even mourn for there was too much. Too much time passed before Gosta finally lifted his eyes to her.

"We must burn them," he said, his voice hollow.

"Too many," said Nyssa. It was all she could manage. The time it would take to gather the bodies was more time than they had. Gosta laid his father's head gently on the ground and stood.

"Then we burn it all," he said. Nyssa prepared to argue, but she did not have the strength, and looking at Gosta's father, face pale as ice, she understood. It was not a matter of honor to burn the settlement, but a matter of survival. When she looked into his eyes, beyond the grief, she recognized her own fear, which neither of them dared to voice. She nodded.

While Nyssa and Gosta made quick work with the torches, Iona stayed with the old man, singing to him in a whisper. She tried to close his eyes, but they were frozen open, reflecting the horror of his final moments. She did not leave his side until Nyssa handed her the torches and told her to light them, while she and Gosta carried the old man's body inside of the tent.

Gosta kissed his father's brow. "Be free," he said, rising again. Nyssa could find no words of comfort to give him. No such words existed. She remembered all too well the pain of losing her own father.

Outside, Iona waited for them. She passed them each a blazing torch. Gosta held his to the hut until the entryway caught fire. They did not stay to watch it burn. Keeping close, they moved through the settlement, lighting hut after hut, until they could barely breathe through the smoke. When the fire had spread far enough to continue on its own, they ran, chased by the embers.

They did not stop until they once more reached the Bay of Ice and only then did they look back. Even from here, they could see the smoke. Iona collapsed, her tears no longer silent, while Gosta and Nyssa stood on either side of her. The fire continued to rage as darkness fell. None of them moved to set up camp as the cold curled around them. They could do nothing but watch as their home, everything and everyone they'd ever known, burned to the ground.

Exhausted from her grief, Iona had fallen into a fitful slumber with her head in her sister's lap, while Nyssa and Gosta kept watch. The fire was all but gone and they could no longer see the smoke in the dark, though the smell remained on their clothes and in their hair.

"We should move on soon," said Gosta, breaking the silence for the first time in hours. He had cried long and hard for his father, while she had pretended not to notice, to spare him any shame.

"Where?" said Nyssa. Her voice came as croak. Her throat was scorched and dry.

"Away from here," said Gosta. "Anywhere."

They had still not voiced their fears, but the silence could not hold forever. Nyssa took a deep breath and spoke the words they both dreaded. "You think it was them? The Others." Her tongue curled on the word. It felt strange to say. She'd heard stories of the Others her whole life, but they had always been just that, stories to frighten the children and keep them from wandering too far from home. She still could not believe what she'd seen, or what it meant, but she was certain there could be no other explanation. There had been no marks on the bodies, no mortal wounds, and her fingertips were still cold from where she'd touched Gosta's father.

"What else could do something like that?" said Gosta. Nyssa had no more answers than him. She stroked her sister's hair as the weight of their situation threatened to crush her. They were alone, in the open, with no protection or shelter. Even with her eyes open, she saw her dead tribesmen, white as ghosts, faces frozen in terror. The feel of her father's blade brought only small comfort. She knew it would not be much good against the Others, but there were different dangers to consider. Their fire may have been noticed by the Frozenriver clan, who had been encroaching upon her peoples' territory all summer, and who would not hesitate to pillage whatever remained of the settlement.

"The Fangs," said Gosta. "We can find a place to lay low."

Nyssa did not welcome the thought of venturing back into the Fangs. Already the snows fell more heavily and she feared they'd find themselves trapped, but they could not stay on the open plains, exposed on every side, and she would rather starve to death than be taken by the Others.

"Or we could find Rayder," said Gosta.

"No," said Nyssa firmly. She would not be dragged into a war and surely she'd have no other choice if they found Rayder and his army. She doubted the King-Beyond-the-Wall would take them in freely. "He's too far. Iona wouldn't make the journey." She was grateful when Gosta did not push the matter any further as she did not have the strength to fight him again. The left side of her face throbbed from where he'd struck her. There would surely be bruising.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I-"

"There is nothing to forgive," said Nyssa, cutting him short.

"You shouldn't have come after me," said Gosta.

"I would not leave my brother to face the Others alone," said Nyssa. "We are all we have now. We must stay together." She saw tears glistening on his cheeks in the moonlight and she could not ignore them any longer. "He is at peace," she said softly. "We made sure of it."

Gosta nodded, no longer able to speak, but he took her hand when she reached for him, and they passed the longest night of their lives in silent mourning for all that they had lost.

The three set out across the plains before the sun rose. None of them spoke much as the day progressed. They stopped briefly only to relieve themselves and ignored the pangs of hunger and thirst. Nyssa and Gosta had agreed not to tell Iona their suspicions about who had attacked the settlement, and she asked no questions as they journeyed on, her bouts of weeping becoming less and less the further they travelled. Nyssa's own shock still prevented her from shedding any tears of her own. She thought only of finding a safe place for her sister.

The Frostfangs loomed over them in the distance. No matter how quickly they walked, the mountains never seemed to come any closer. Nyssa had made this journey many times, but it was as if the ground had changed beneath her feet. The path she and Gosta had followed only a few weeks ago was unrecognizable to her now. Iona soon began to shiver so hard that it became difficult for her to walk. Nyssa worried if she would make it to the mountains, but Iona did not complain, and trudged on the best she could, though her pace gradually slowed.

"Let me carry you awhile," said Gosta, stopping suddenly. Iona tried to protest, but could not speak through her chattering teeth. "We must make it to the Fangs by nightfall," said Gosta. "This is not a place to make camp. You understand?"

Iona gave him a frozen frown. Her lips were cracked from the cold. Nyssa fished a little jar of walrus blubber from her pouch. She could barely unscrew the lid. Even with her thickest pair of gloves on, her hands were numb. She removed one of her gloves to rub some of the walrus blubber across her sister's lips. "We will all have to carry each other now," said Nyssa.

Reluctantly, Iona clambered onto Gosta's back, and they set off again. They no longer had the privilege of pride. Though Iona loathed being carried like a child, she knew that she would only continue to slow them down. She soon rested her head on Gosta's shoulder, hiding her face from her sister. Nyssa's eyes grazed the snowy plains for any signs of movement. She felt enemies approaching from every direction, certain that someone would catch up to them, be it the Frozenriver people or the Others. She knew their chances would not be good in either happenstance. Iona could not fight and she could not run.

They were within the shadow of the Frostfangs when Nyssa's fears came to be. Her eyes caught on a shift in the empty landscape and she saw a dozen shapeless figures running towards them at full tilt. "Run," she said, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. Gosta still heard her. He did not look back as he broke into a run. Iona turned her head in horror and tightened her grip around Gosta's neck, while Nyssa sprinted close on his heels. If they could only make it to the mountains, they could find a place to hide, but as she glanced behind her, she realized such was impossible. Their enemies had already closed the gap between them enough that she recognized them to be Frozenriver people, armed with long spears, and gaining on them every second.

"Keep going," she said to Gosta, even as she came to an abrupt halt. He finally glanced back, looking at the dozen warriors on their trail, and then at Nyssa, his eyes locking with her's as silent words flowed between them. She could not hold off the Frozenriver marauders for long, but if he kept running, then she could buy him enough time to get Iona to safety. Gosta nodded, a promise that he did not have time to voice, and continued running.

"No!" Iona screamed. "No!" She looked back desperately at Nyssa, but she did not have the strength to return to her. Gosta gripped her legs tightly as she struggled weakly against him. Nyssa turned her back on them both. She planted her feet in the snow, her father's dagger drawn, and she waited for the enemy to reach her.

At fifteen feet away, an arrow flew through the air, whizzing just past Nyssa's cheek, and she knew her wait was over. Thinking only of her sister, she gathered every ounce of strength remaining to her, and she charged. She ducked just before colliding with the first of the Frozenriver men. Her knife sunk into his gut and as he fell, she stole the spear from his hand, throwing it at the second man and piercing his heart.

Soon, she thought of nothing, not even Iona, as the blood of battle sang in her ears. Her father had been slain by a Frozenriver man. She took pleasure in reaping her vengenance. From the third body she felled, Nyssa took up an axe, which served her well in cutting down the next. Though her enemies closed in around her, she did not pause to examine her life. Such was not the way of a warrior. She would die with honor, so that her sister might live, and she would leave no regrets on this earth.

The remaining Frozenriver people surrounded her. She could not doge between them and her arms weakened against their blows. She had not slept or eaten since the night before. Her bones ached from the cold, but she held her ground until at last a spearhead found its way through her defenses and sliced clean through her thigh. Nyssa fell to the snow. She saw her sister's face before a blow to the head turned out the sun.

Nyssa woke to the sound of dripping water. Pain greeted her without remorse, so she knew that she was still alive, somehow. Beneath her there was stone instead of snow. She was no longer on the plains. She opened her eyes and was blinded by a blazing fire. As her sight adjusted, she realized that she was in a cave. The taste of some pungent herb lingered on her tongue. Someone had cleaned and bandaged her thigh. She was not yet ready to see her injuries, as well as feel them, so she made no effort to peek under the dressings.

When she tried to stand, she found she could not. Whoever had brought her here, she assumed they were a friend. Had Gosta come back for her? If so, where was he, and where was Iona? She heard something stirring in the darkness of the cave and reached for her knife, but it wasn't in its sheath.

"You should be resting," said an old woman, appearing from the dark. Nyssa relaxed. She knew the old woman well. Greta had delivered both she and Iona into the world.

"You survived," said Nyssa, a rush of joy momentarily blocking out her pain. She had not thought to see the old mage again. "By the devil, how?" Her thoughts seemed to clear the more she spoke and she remembered the Frozenriver people as well as the pain they had inflicted. "How did we get here? I should be dead."

"I'm old," chuckled Greta, "with even older secrets. I'm not helpless whatever people think. Now hush. You are weak."

Nyssa couldn't deny the truth of that. She watched silently as the old mage tossed a handful of gold powder into the flames and muttered words in some foriegn tongue. She then dipped her hands into the fire and removed the powder, now a square of hardened paste.

"Eat," said Greta. Nyssa took the brittle cracker and gave it a sniff. "Go on," urged the mage, "it will give you strength. You'll need all you can get."

"Do you know where my sister is?" said Nyssa, turning the cracker in her hands. She still could not work out how the old woman had managed to save her from half a dozen warriors, whatever her secrets may be, or how she had escaped from the Others.

"I haven't seen the girl," said Greta. "Or your tall friend."

Nyssa tried to stand again and was again brought down. "I have to find them," she said, frustrated at her own helplessness. Greta shook her head.

"No," she said simply.

"What do you mean no?" said Nyssa.

"Eat first."

Nyssa knew she would get nowhere without the old mage's help, and she doubted that Greta had saved her only to poison her, so she ate the strange cracker. It turned to dust on her tongue, choking her, but she managed to swallow and immediately she did feel better.

"Your sister and the boy are safe," said Greta. She leaned over to stoke the fire. The embers did not burn her. "For now, but that will not be so for much longer. You've seen what is to come, at camp, and in your dreams."

"How do you know about-?"

"I know," said Greta shortly. "That is enough. Who do you think taught your mother the art of prophecy? I have always watched you, girl. I have always known what you will become."

Nyssa stared blankly at the old woman. She knew not what to say, whether to laugh or rage. Then a thought struck her that tipped the scales to rage. "You knew what was going to happen?" she hissed. "That they would all die."

No sorrow touched the old woman's face. It was as if she wore a mask. She did not look the same as Nyssa remembered. In fact, the more she stared at the old woman, the younger she appeared. "It was meant to be," said Greta. "You are angry. That is good."

"Tell me what else you've seen," said Nyssa. "You said my sister isn't safe."

"None of us are," said Greta. "Winter is coming and it will not come alone this time. War is set to burn across the land. Many kings will be born and many kings will die."

"I don't care about kings," said Nyssa.

"You should and you will," said Greta. "You know, too, that you have a role to play. You cannot run from the gods. Trying to will only hurt you."

Nyssa shivered. In her mind, she heard the wolf, always calling to her. "What is my role?" she said, afraid of the answer.

"You already know," said Greta. "Find the wolf."