"The pig is mine, Lord Stark, I swear on my children's lives."

"It bears my brand on it's ass, you lying bastard!"

Robb had heard enough. He held up his hands to silence the two farmers. This was one of many disputes he'd suffered through today and there were many more to come. Never had Robb understood the depth of his father's patience until it fell to him to counsel the smallfolk. "Cut the pig in half," he said to the two red-faced men. "Winter is coming," he reminded them. "We will need each other soon. Do not forget that."

Neither farmer was pleased with his judgement, but both of their families would eat tonight, and so Robb was satisfied. He could not make everyone happy, but he would do his best to keep his people fed. "How many more?" he said, turning to Maester Luwin who stood at his right hand. Before the maester could answer, Robb changed his mind. Perhaps it was better not to know. He had wanted to go riding in the Wolfswood, but it was already late afternoon, and more work awaited him once the council ended.

"Bring the next," said Robb, resigned to putting off his ride for another day. As the next complainant stepped forward, he couldn't help his gaze from sliding to the windows, remembering a time not so long ago when he would've been out in the yard, sparring with Jon and Theon, instead of sitting in his father's seat and doling out judgement he felt ill-suited to pass.

"My lord," a man spoke. Robb's attention snapped back to the proceedings. A tall and bearded man stood before him. He offered only a cursory bow, which did not go unnoticed by Robb, nor was this farmer the first to show doubt in the young lord's authority. "My name is Giller," the man said. "I ain't got much and I work hard for what I do got."

"Your grievance?" said Robb, eager to move the matter along.

"That woman stole from me," said Giller, pointing. Robb followed the man's finger to a woman he had not seen brought into the hall. She was flanked by two of his guards. It seemed she might collapse without them to hold her up. Her face was hidden by a curtain of black, greasy hair. Her clothes left no doubt in Robb's mind that she was a wildling. He gestured for the guards to bring her forward. "Is it true?" he said. "Did you steal from this man?"

The woman lifted her head. She stared at him through dark tangles and bruised eyes. "Yes," she said.

"Tell me, wildling, what gave you the right to steal from my people?" said Robb. He did not like the way she looked at him. Even the smallfolk who mistrusted him had shown enough respect, but this woman glowered at him in unabashed contempt.

"The right to live," she said. "Every man has a right to that." A murmur gusted through the hall at her answer. One of the guards moved as if to strike her, but his hand fell when Robb stood. Wildling or no, he would not allow any blood to be spilled in his father's hall. Justice would be carried out with honor. The King's Law was clear; any wildlings caught trespassing must be executed.

Robb had never ordered another person to die. Though her stare unnerved him, he struggled to pass the sentence. She was a thief and a savage, but she was not wrong that every man had a right to live. When he spoke, his words fell heavily, and he continued to hold her gaze though desperately wanting to look away.

"For your crimes, you will be executed at dawn," said Robb. His voice did not falter though his hands shook. "Take her to her cell to await the King's justice."

"Wait!" shouted the woman, struggling against her guards. "I know about the Fallen Child!"

Robb's composure slipped. The hall fell silent. Even the guards ceased trying to restrain the woman. They stepped back from her as if she was a witch. "The boy is in grave danger," the woman said. "I've...come to protect him."

Robb did not know whether to laugh or kill her where she stood. How could this wildling possibly know about Bran? He couldn't imagine who else she meant by the Fallen Child, unless it was a clever guess, or she had overheard something, in which case he would dearly love to know what exactly.

"To her cell," he said again. The guards hesitated before taking the woman. She did not struggle this time, nor did she look away from him as the guards dragged her away. As soon as she was gone, he turned to the smallfolk still waiting to be heard. "Return to your homes for the night," he told them. "I will hold council tomorrow with anyone who has not had a chance to speak." Robb was grateful when the crowd flocked towards the door with only a few mutters of discontent. Most of them where too curious about the wildling to remember their own concerns.

"She knows about Bran," said Robb, rounding on Maester Luwin the moment the last of the villagers stepped out of the hall.

"Which leads one to question what else she knows," said Maester Luwin.

"Could she be in league with the Lannisters?" said Robb, knowing it was absurd even as he spoke.

"I do not see how," said Maester Luwin. "As far as I know, the queen does not keep company with wildlings."

"Whatever the case, I don't trust her," said Robb.

"I would urge you not to," said the Maester, "but it may be beneficial to listen to what she has to say. You might find a hint of truth in her words."

Robb fell into his father's seat. It felt too big for him, though, and he quickly stood again. His father would know what to do about the wildling. His father always knew what to do. Every judgement Robb had made today had been a reminder that, no matter how hard he tried, he was not his father.

Robb sat at the foot of Bran's bed while his mother paced the room. He regretted telling her now about the wildling. The room was unbearably hot. He tugged at his collar as he waited for his mother to finally speak. From time to time, he glanced at Bran, lost in a sleep he could not wake from. The boy's pale face glowed with a sheen of sweat. Even if the boy did wake, he would never walk again. Robb still had not fully accepted his brother's fate, so needlessly cruel for a child.

"I wish to speak to this woman," announced Catelyn. She stopped pacing to face her oldest son.

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Robb. He had expected this and yet he still wasn't entirely prepared. "You can't trust her. She'll try to trick you."

"I've raised five children," said Catelyn, "and you think I don't know a lie from the truth? This woman said Bran was in danger. Did she say from whom?"

"No," said Robb. "She didn't say much at all. Mother, we've talked about this, we have no proof against the Lannisters."

"Lysa would not lie," said Catelyn firmly. "The wildling obviously knows something. She might be more open with another woman."

"And if I forbid it?" said Robb. She gave him such a withering look that he blushed from shame.

"You may be serving as Lord of Winterfell," said Catelyn, "but I am still your mother."

Robb looked again to Bran. He doubted the wildling knew much of anything, but he could not deny his mother and he could not leave any stone unturned, no matter how hopeless of a lead it seemed. "You're not to go alone," he said.

"No guards," said Catelyn. "No one can know that Bran's fall wasn't an accident. I'm sure the Lannisters have their spies even here."

"Then I will go with you."

"No," she said again. "I will speak to her alone."

Robb did not like it, but he had known all along that his mother would do as she wanted, and he had no power to stop her.

Nyssa waited to be told when she would die. One of the guards had given her bread and a cup of water. She picked off the moldy bits and devoured the loaf whole. It had been so long since she'd had solid food in her belly. The water she would try to ration through the night. She did not expect to be in this cold cell any longer than that. In the dark, with her hunger somewhat sated, her thoughts turned to her people. Had Cara and her daughter been sold? What of Iona and Gosta? They could've found Rayder by now. They would not be alone and she felt some comfort in the thought.

Nyssa had almost forgotten about her situation, so lost in speculation about the people she'd left behind only to be taken further from home, when she heard voices outside of her cell. Though her body groaned in protest, she used the wall to push herself onto her feet. She would meet her fate standing up. She was not at all prepared for the woman who entered her cell.

"Leave us," said Catelyn to the guards. She closed the cell door behind them. For a moment, the two women stared at each other, as if sizing up the enemy.

"Who're you?" said Nyssa.

"Catelyn Stark," said the woman, "Wife of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Nyssa almost laughed. "You're married to that boy? You could be his mother."

"I am his mother," said Catelyn.

"Oh," said Nyssa. She had thought the boy was Lord of Winterfell. It didn't much matter to her one way or the other. She had only one concern. "Are you going to kill me?"

Catelyn did not respond. She eyed the girl over again. It was hard to see through the filth that caked her from head to toe, though it was clear the girl was not much older than Robb. "How did you come here?"

"Slavers," spat Nyssa.

"Slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms," said Catelyn.

"Better tell that to them who stole me."

"You escaped?" said Catelyn. The wildling nodded. If the girl had managed to slip away from a band of slavers, then she was either clever or lucky. Since she was now a prisoner in Winterfell's dungeon, Catelyn leaned towards clever. "Why did you come to Winterfell?"

"I didn't," said Nyssa. "I was headed for the Wall. The gods were the ones that brought me here. I have these dreams…"

"The Sight?" said Catelyn skeptically.

"My mother had it too. In my dreams, I hear a direwolf. The gods tell me I'm supposed to find it."

"The direwolf is House Stark's sigil," said Catelyn. She suspected the girl already knew this, but her expression turned blank.

"Don't know what a sigle is," she said.

"A sigil," corrected Catelyn.

"Don't know much about you Starks, either," said Nyssa. "All I know is I'm supposed to find the wolf."

"And did the gods tell you about my son in your dreams?"

"They call him the Fallen Child," said Nyssa. She remembered what the Child of the Forest had told her. If she was to survive and find her way home, then she had to gain this woman's trust. The Child had given her a way to do that. "I think your son is the one I'm looking for. I'm supposed to protect him. I don't know what from, and I've tried running, but the gods brought me here all the same."

Catelyn continued to stare at the girl. Never had she believed in magic, but neither did she believe the wildling was lying. She believed her words even if Catelyn did not. Winter is coming, Catelyn reminded herself. Strange things happened in winter. The ways of the old gods were still a mystery to her. She could not speak for them, but she knew that the wildlings worshipped the same gods as the Starks. Could the girl have been sent by them as the direwolves had been? If not for Summer, then Bran would surely be dead, and Catelyn could no longer deny that her children's wolves were much more than unusual pets.

"Someone tried to kill my son, twice," said Catelyn. Despite everything she knew about wildlings, she trusted this woman. "I plan to ride South and find out who."

"What's that got to do with me?" said Nyssa.

"I would have you look after my son while I'm gone," said Catelyn. Robb would do all he could, but there was so much on his shoulders already. He could not always be at Bran's side and Catelyn would not leave the boy unless there was someone who could. "Do what the gods sent you to do," she said. "I will pay you upon my return and you will be free to go."

"And if I refuse?' said Nyssa.

"Then you will be executed."

The lady brought Nyssa to a simple room in the servants' corridor which ran just beneath the great hall. It was not a very large room, no more than ten feet either way, with only a narrow bed, bare of linens. All the same, Nyssa was glad to be warm for the first time in weeks. There was no fireplace in the room, but the lady explained that the castle was built on a hot spring, and that was why the very stones themselves felt warm to the touch. Nyssa hadn't thought the Southerners capable of magic, though she now had to admit they might have secret talents of their own.

A tub of steaming water had been brought to the room before they arrived. Nyssa didn't mind that the lady watched her peel away her furs and undergarments, stuck to her skin by sweat and blood. Catelyn, however, was horrified by the sight of the girl's mangled body. Every inch of her was bruised and swollen. Her ribs showed through her skin. Ragged and pus-encrusted strips of cloth stuck to an oozing hole in her thigh. It was a miracle the girl was alive, and yet she could walk, and talk, and seemed not to notice the pain that Catelyn knew she must be suffering.

"I will have our maester tend to you," said Catelyn. She was relieved when the wildling slid into the tub, hiding the worst of her injuries beneath the steam. A hiss of pleasure escaped Nyssa's lips as the hot water enveloped her, soothing her aching muscle, and stinging her open cuts.

"What's a maester?" she said, resting her head against the wooden edge of the tub.

"A man of learning," said Catelyn.

"What do they learn?"

"All kinds of things- medicine, history, husbandry." Catelyn almost smiled at the girl's questions. The fact that she was barely more than a child showed through. Only a child had such curiosity for trivial things in times of danger.

Nyssa had so much more to ask, but she held her tongue. The woman seemed kind enough. She was no killer for certain, but she wasn't kin or clan either, and Nyssa reminded herself not to get comfortable. The warmth had softened her up too much. She needed the pain to stay sharp, so she rose from the water, which had turned black in mere minutes. She was reaching for the robe draped across the foot of the unmade bed, when the door flew open, banging against the wall.

"You released her?" said Robb, standing red-faced in the doorway. "You-" His voice faltered when his eyes lit on the wildling, naked as babe, and staring back at him with ice cold eyes. He was stunned and sickened at the sight of her. Beneath the filth, her body was broken, and yet she stood tall and unbent.

Catelyn cleared her throat to draw his attention from the wildling. His cheeks flaming crimson, he looked at the wall just past his mother's shoulder. "I did not give you permission to release her," he muttered.

"I'm going South," said Catelyn. Robb looked at her in shock.

"Are you mad?" he said. "You can't go South. What about Bran and Rickon?" He stopped himself short before saying, What about me?

"It's for the boys that I must go," said Catelyn steadily. "I will find proof that the Lannisters are behind Bran's fall and bring them to justice."

"Let me go," said Robb.

"No, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Catelyn looked at the wildling girl who'd pulled the robe over her shoulders as they spoke. She was so quiet, like a ghost or a shadow. Though Catelyn did not even know her name, she knew the girl had more strength than most men this side of the Wall. "What are you called?"

"Nyssa," said the girl. Of course she had no family name. Good, thought Catelyn. No family name, no loyalties. She was one of the few people in the Seven Kingdoms who Catelyn could be sure was not a Lannister spy.

"While I am away," said Catelym, turning back to her son, "I've asked Nyssa to look after Bran."

"Her?" said Robb. "We have a hundred honorable men, but you want to let a wildling run loose about the castle?"

"Honor is not enough." Catelyn did not expect her son to understand. The things a mother would do in defense of her child were not always honorable and good. A mother's love was savage. The wildling was as close to such protection as Catelyn was likely to find. "Nyssa will stay at Bran's side as you cannot. I trust her and that is enough. She is a part of my household now."

Robb gaped at his mother. He knew that his father would never allow her to ride South alone. It was madness and even more she was putting her faith in a wildling. He felt helpless. Unless he locked his own mother in the dungeons with the wildling, then she would go South, no matter what he thought about it. Fuming, at a loss for words, Robb spun on his heels, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't think he fancies me much," said Nyssa. She hadn't understood most of their conversation, but the boy's hatred for her was clear as day.

"He will do as I say," said Catelyn, hoping it wasn't a lie. Robb would understand someday when he had children of his own. "Rest now. I'll send for the maester."

Nyssa sunk onto the bed. It wasn't nearly as soft as her bed from home, but it was far better than the cold, hard ground. She was clean, warm, and no one would be coming to kick her in the middle of the night. Too tired to think of tomorrow, she closed her eyes and was snoring before Catelyn made it to the door. She paused a moment to watch the girl's face soften in slumber. Whatever had brought her to Winterfell, the gods or chance, Catelyn did not know, and she could only hope she'd made the right decision.