Now that the Fallen Child was awake, Nyssa only abandoned her post to relieve herself or steal a quick meal from the kitchen. The bed in her new room remained unslept in. She dozed with her head against the wall whenever Wilfred stood guard with her.

I'm not doing this for you, she told the three-eyed raven whenever he came to caw at her. She still intended to leave Winterfell as soon as the red-haired lady returned, but until then she would keep her promise. She would protect the Fallen Child for his own sake and for his mother, not for the gods. Nyssa knew nothing about the lions that were after the little lord. In her mind's eyes, they truly were lions, with fearsome claws and blood-stained fangs.

Summer scratched at the door from within the Fallen Child's chamber. Nyssa stayed where she was. The guard could let the beast out. Soon, he did just that, and she backed up against the wall as he opened the door. Summer trotted past him and came to her, nipping at her skirts. "Away," she snapped, but the beast would not obey her. It pushed its snout against her legs, trying to herd her into the room.

"Fine," she said. "I'll go already."

As if the wolf understood, he trotted back towards the room. Nyssa reluctantly followed. When the guard moved to stop her, Summer nipped at him until he retreated. Inside the room, Summer bounded onto his master's bed and laid at the Fallen Child's feet and watched her lingering on the threshold.

"Some trick you've taught him," said Nyssa, eyeing the wolf back just as warily.

"Do you always stand outside?" said Bran. Nyssa nodded. "But you never come in."

"Your brother doesn't like me to."

"You won't hurt me."

"I might."

"No," said the boy. "You said so yourself. Does the raven talk to you, too?"

"No," said Nyssa. It wasn't a lie exactly. The three-eyed raven never spoke to her.

"He made me wake up," said Bran. "I didn't want to." He glared at his legs, which he could no longer feel, and remembered how he'd been able to fly in his dreams. Nyssa didn't know what to say to the boy. There were no words to make being a cripple easier. I might as well be crippled too, she thought, crippled by the gods who would not let her return home.

"Why are you always standing outside?" said Bran.

"To keep the lions out," said Nyssa.

"The Lannisters?"

"Yes, them."

The boy did not balk. He accepted rather well that the lions were out for his blood. "I don't remember anything," he said. "The raven says it's better that I don't. Why?"

"Couldn't tell you, little lord," said Nyssa.

"But you have the Sight."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Either way the gods don't speak straight," she said. Bran continued to glower at his legs. He needed a distraction. Nyssa sighed and continued. "My mother had the Sight, and her mother before." The boy perked up as she began talking. His eyes glowed with curiosity. There was nothing ancient about his face now. He looked like the boy that he was. "When my mother was very young, the gods showed her how she would die."

"That's terrible," said Bran.

"Yes, the gods are often cruel."

"What happened to her, your mother?"

"She died just as she saw," said Nyssa. Her mother had died to bring Iona into the world, even knowing the babe would kill her. While Nyssa had never understood, it was not her place to question, and her mother had promised her that someday she would understand, and to not blame the child who was innocent. "I should go," she said, taking a step back.

"Please don't," said Bran. "I won't ask any more questions."

Nyssa smiled despite herself. She very much doubted that the boy would hold his tongue, but she stayed all the same. Something about him reminded her of home. She felt more relaxed in his presence than she had in weeks.

"Do you know any stories?" said the boy.

"A few."

"Will you tell me one?"

Nyssa wracked her brains for one. She hadn't told any stories since Iona was a girl, but she still remembered her sister's favorite, and so she began to tell it. The Fallen Child hung to her every word, just as Iona once had, and for a time Nyssa allowed herself to forget where she was and all that happened. They both lost themselves in the stories of her people.

"Maester Luwin told me the Imp is coming back to Winterfell," said Bran. A tray of untouched eggs and sausages sat across his legs. He could not feel the weight.

"Eat," said Robb, "and I'll tell you if it's true."

"Maester Luwin never lies," said Bran. He speared one of the sausages and brought it to his mouth to nibble at the end. He was skinny now when only a month ago he'd been a plump little boy.

Robb drew back the curtains to allow some sunlight into the room. "Lord Tyrion will arrive tomorrow," he said. "He rides with three brothers of the Night's Watch."

"Uncle Benjen?" said Bran, brightening for a moment.

"No and not Jon either," said Robb.

Bran sank back into his pillows and set aside his knife. "Do you think he's taken the Black yet?"

Robb sat at the end of Bran's bed and took one of the sausages for himself. He'd been too busy preparing for Lord Tyrion to have his own breakfast. "He could've by now," he said through a mouthful.

"He promised I could come visit after he took the Black," said Bran. The boy looked glumly at his legs. "I won't be able to go now."

"Not for awhile, but once you're better-"

"I won't get better," said Bran. He looked at his brother and there was no light in his eyes. More than ever, Robb wished their mother was here. She'd know what to say to him, how to comfort him.

"I'll find a way to get you to the Wall," said Robb as he stood. "Be patient, eat your breakfast and get strong, then we'll talk again."

"Tell Nyssa to come in," said Bran. Robb paused halfway to the door and looked back at his little brother. He'd stopped trying to keep the wildling out of his brother's room. How could he when she was the only person who managed to put a smile on Bran's face? Summer had nearly bitten off one guard's hand for trying to stop the wildling, so it seemed the wolves trusted her, as did his mother, and as did Bran.

"What do the two of you talk about?" said Robb.

"She tells me stories. They're much better than Old Nan's."

"Stories about what?"

"All sorts of things," said Bran. Robb could only guess. His brother had always loved the scary tales best, the ones with monsters and magic. The wildling no doubt had plenty of experience with all that.

"Just don't let Old Nan hear you insulting her stories," said Robb, forcing a smile. If the boy wanted to listen to the wildling's fairy tales, then so be it. There wasn't much harm in letting him dream now that he had little else.

The wildling was waiting out in the hall. "He wants you," said Robb, unable to meet her eyes. He wouldn't take the wildling away from his brother, but he hated her all the more for knowing how to make Bran smile when he no longer could.

Nyssa was in the middle of telling Bran about Odell the Old, a free folk man who stopped to take a nap under a weirwood tree and slept for a thousand years. She was coming to the part where Odell awoke only to realize his family was long dead, when the Greyjoy barged into the room. "The Imp's here," he announced. "You're to greet him with your brother."

"I want to hear the end of the story," said Bran, keeping his eyes on Nyssa. "What does Odell do?"

"You've got to dress now," said Theon. "There will be time enough to listen to the wildling's horse shit later."

Bran finally looked to the Grayjoy. "She has a name," he said.

Theon smirked at the wildling. Even in her proper clothes, she looked like a savage, her black hair loose about her shoulders. She wasn't bad to look at, though Robb had forbidden him to lay a hand on the bitch.

"Robb wants to see you, too," said Theon.

"What for?" said Nyssa.

"Doesn't matter. You go when your lord summons you."

"He ain't my lord."

Theon stepped towards her, putting only Bran and his bed between them. In his mind, Robb and Lady Stark had lost their senses. Given the choice, he would've put the bitch down on the spot, after he'd had a bit of fun. "He's your lord as long as you're in Winterfell," said Theon. As he is mine, he thought, stepping back again.

Nyssa did not move from her stool by the fire. "Who's the Imp?" she asked Bran.

"Tyrion Lannister," said the boy.

Nyssa leapt to her feet. "A lion?" she said, eyes narrowing as she turned to Theon. "And you're letting him stroll right through the gates?"

"It's not my decision," said Theon bitterly. Nyssa barreled past him, out the door, and was gone without another word. "What's with her?" said Theon, staring after her.

"She's gone to tell Robb he's an idiot."

Theon laughed despite himself. He almost wished to follow the wildling and give Robb a piece of his own mind.

Robb was in the midst of dressing when he heard raised voices outside his door. He froze, bent at the waist, with his trousers about his ankles, as the door flew open and the wildling blew in like a storm wind.

"Sorry, my lord," said one of his men, tumbling in behind her. "She wouldn't-"

"Out!" said Robb, standing straight and pulling up his trousers firmly about his waist. The guard ducked his head and retreated. The wildling did not. "You too."

"You summoned me," said Nyssa. "Now you want me to go."

"I'm not decent," snapped Robb. His hands fumbled with his laces. He reached behind him to search for his tunic without taking his eyes off of the girl.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Nyssa, head cocked to the side. "How aren't you decent?"

Robb pulled on his shirt quickly, losing sight of her for a moment, while she did not lose sight of him. He felt his cheeks grow hot and could do nothing about it. There seemed no point in explaining the concept of doors to a wildling. "Never mind," he muttered.

"You can't let the lion in," said Nyssa. Robb bristled at being told what he could not do in his own keep. Now was not the time to fight with her, however, so he swallowed his anger for the time being. One enemy at a time, he reminded himself.

"I can't turn him away," said Robb truthfully. "You don't understand. There are rules."

"Explain," said Nyssa, crossing her arms. Talking to her was like talking to a mountain. There was no going around her. He didn't have time to dig a tunnel through her.

"The Lannisters have more power than any other family in the Seven Kingdoms," said Robb. He combed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make the curls lie flat. "We can't let them know we suspect them in any way."

Nyssa thought he looked even more like a boy in his fancy clothes with his still red cheeks. "That's stupid," she said. "Why not just kill the lion and be done with it?"

"Because there are other lions, bigger ones," said Robb, giving up on his hair. "If we offend one, we offend them all. We lose our advantage over them."

Nyssa pondered his words and supposed they made sense enough. "Where I come from, we don't dance around our vengenance," she said.

"We're not where you're from," said Robb. He walked to his bed and reached under the pillow, drawing out the wildling's dagger. The sight of it stopped her talking. He felt the atmosphere of the room change as her eyes lit on the blade. He could see how desperately she wanted to take it from him as he approached her, but she stood still except for those dark eyes following his every move.

Robb had made up his mind. There was no going back now. He did not like her, nor did he think it wise to trust her, but he knew in his heart that she would let no harm come to Bran. He held out the dagger to her. "Take it," he said. "I want you to keep it while Lord Tyrion is in Winterfell."

Nyssa reached for the dagger slowly, waiting for some kind of trick, but the boy-lord gave it over to her. She felt the notches in the hilt, so familiar, a part of her own arm. The boy-lord did not back away from her though she was now armed. It would be easy to cut his throat, bloody those pretty clothes of his, but the thought drifted away as soon as it came to her.

"You promised my mother to protect Bran," said Robb. "Do not leave his side. Not for a moment."

Nyssa slid the dagger up her sleeve. They called her a wildling, a savage, but she had never broken a promise in her life.

Nyssa found herself once again in the Great Hall, standing at the foot of the raised platform upon which the boy-lord sat with Bran, with the simpleton at her side. "Hodor, Hodor," muttered the half-giant. Nyssa looked at the Starks. That's what it means to be a lord, she thought to herself, sitting in uncomfortable chairs raised above everyone else. She was only glad not to be on trial now. Bran caught her eye for a moment. She made a face at him, he giggled, and the boy-lord cast her a stern look, a clear warning to be on her best behavior.

When the great, wooden doors groaned, Nyssa felt for her dagger tucked in her sleeve where she could easily reach it. She braced herself for the lion, thinking of how they appeared in her imaginings, but the man who came waddling down the Hall was far from her expectations. He was not a lion by any means, just a stunted dwarf in fine clothing. Nyssa laughed before she could stop herself. While the boy-lord shot her another furious glance, the half-man didn't look at her. He stopped just short of the platform.

"I expected Lady Stark would be here to greet me," said the little man. His voice did not suit his body. It carried clear across the Hall, resonating in every corner.

"My mother regrets that she could not be here. She is unwell at the moment and sends her regards."

"If only that were true," said the half man, "but your mother isn't in Winterfell, is she? I take it you won't tell me where she's gone."

"No," said Robb, his eyes narrowing. It was a struggle to keep his composure in Lord Tyrion's presence. His hand itched to draw his sword. "Our business is none of your concern, Lannister." He could not keep the edge from his voice though he tried.

"I had a much warmer welcome on my last visit to Winterfell," said the half man. Nyssa could tell he was not fooled by the boy-lord's hospitality. He'd told her that it was important not to raise the little lion's suspicions, yet he was doing a very poor job of that himself.

Tyrion drew a roll of parchment from his cloak pocket. "A gift for the boy," he said, nodding at Bran. "I hear you like to ride."

"I did," said Bran morosely.

"And you will again," said Tyrion. "Here are plans for a special saddle that should suit you. I fashioned the design after my own."

Bran sat a little straighter as one of the guard's took the parchment from Tyrion and brought it to Robb. He unfurled the scroll, taking a cursory glance at the design. "Why would you do this for him?" he asked the half man, skeptical of the gift.

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things," said Tyrion.

"Thank you, my lord," said Robb grudgingly. "You are welcome here for the night."

"I appreciate your attempt at courtesy," said Tyrion, "but I think I'll find warmer accommodations. There's a brothel in Winter Town that will do just fine and I'm sure the company will be far better."

Nyssa did not watch the half man retreat back down the Hall. She kept her eyes on the boy-lord. He didn't relinquish his grip on the arms of his chair until the great, wooden doors closed behind the little man. She looked away, slipping unnoticed from the Hall, and stalked after the half man, finding him near the stables where his horse was being fed and watered. He was looking up at the burned tower which had once been Winterfell's library before the assassin set fire to it.

"Tell me," said the half man, "how did a wildling girl find a place in Winterfell?"

"Accident," said Nyssa, circling the man as a beast would circle its prey. "They told me you were a lion."

"Are you disappointed?" said Tyrion, looking from the burnt tower to the girl. He'd noticed her straight away. Her servant's clothes could not disguise what she was. He had never seen a wildling before and was curious to know more about her, but it seemed she was made of the same stone as the castle.

"Yes," said Nyssa. "You're no lion."

Tyrion had heard worse attacks against his honor. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said lightly. "You've lived on the other side of the Wall?" She nodded. "Is it true? Are there grumpkins and white walkers?"

Nyssa's blood turned to ice at the mention of the Others. She shivered where she stood. "Don't know about grumpkins," she said. "Never seen a white walker, but I have seen what they leave behind."

"What's that?"

"Corpses."

Tyrion couldn't decide if she lied to frighten him or if she believed her own words. The men of the Night's Watch had spoken of things beyond the Wall and he didn't doubt their sincerity. If anything the men of the Night's Watch were far too sincere. Yet the cold and the dark could play tricks on the mind. Despite his many flaws, Tyrion Lannister was not a superstitious man. "And what of this Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall?" he said. "Did he send you to spy on us?"

"I don't give a damn about no kings," said Nyssa. The steel of her dagger was a cold kiss against her skin. She could slit the half man's throat in the blink of an eye. There was no one near to protect him, but she didn't draw her blade. Instead she turned her back on the little lion.

As he watched her stalk away, Tyrion reconsidered his decision to leave Winterfell for the brothel. Clearly he was not welcome by the young Stark boy, for reasons unknown to him and ones he didn't much care about. His curiosity was more for the wildling girl, someone who had lived in that vast wilderness he'd looked out at from the top of the Wall, and he had many more questions he'd like to ask her. Then again, she didn't seem an overly talkative sort.

Tyrion put the girl aside in his mind for the promise of good wine and beautiful women, two things he was certain to find in Winter Town, and after his visit to the Wall he was starved for the attention of a few whores. He would meet up with Yoren in the morning and continue on to King's Landing, putting the North far behind him. The Stark boy could rest easy and so could he.

Robb was on his way to his chambers, having said goodnight to Bran and Rickon, and longing for his bed, when he sensed the wildling. She moved too quietly, her feet making no sound on the stone, but he had come to recognize her presence as a weight on his back.

"Where've you been?" he said, turning to face her. "I told you not to leave Bran's side."

Nyssa held out her dagger and looked him in the eyes. "The little lion is gone," she said.

Robb's heart stuttered. His eyes darted to the blade in her hand to check for blood. There was none, but he asked nonetheless. "Tell me you didn't kill him."

"I understand you Southerners more than you think," said Nyssa. "I don't know about the other lions, but that one will not hurt your brother."

"How do you know?" said Robb.

"He's no killer," she said with a shrug. She was still holding the knife to him. He'd told her she could keep it while the little lion was Winterfell and now the little lion was gone. Though parting with her father's dagger felt like chopping off her own arm after only just sewing it back on, she'd rather give it freely than have it stolen from her again.

Robb did not reach for the dagger. He looked at the wildling and his skin crawled at the sight of her with a weapon, but he knew if she'd wanted to use it, then she would have already. "Keep it," he finally said. "It belongs to you."

Nyssa kept her surprise hidden as she slid the dagger back up her sleeve. She moved to step past him, but paused when the boy-lord spoke.

"What are the notches for?"

"The men my father killed," said Nyssa.

"Where is your father now?"

"Dead," she said without sorrow. Those black eyes gave nothing away.