A Song of Frost & Flame

by Chimaera1201

When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.

9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9 – THE LORD'S MOON

Raeghun watched his lands and his people from the sun tower, the highest tower of his hold. Little shapes cast shadows on the green fields, and he wondered what it was they were thinking. Were they happy? Did they feel safe under his care? For more than a year they had looked to him as the liege lord of the Corridor. The fields awash with the light of a bright sun in a clear blue sky, these were the people that made him all that he was. But the sense never left him that he would never be as great as his father. He tried, gods knew he did; he wanted to watch over each of them and keep them as content as he could. He looked up at the bright banner fluttering in the wind above his head, and disregarding that same longing, he knew nothing to be this absolute. The phoenix, the fire that would never die out like what burned through his very heart and soul, and he had every man and woman in this country to thank. A touch of cold ran up his stomach, over his chest and shoulder, then down the length of his arm despite the warm summer breeze and his skin turned to goose flesh. He breathed in, taking in a definite perfume of vanilla, then smiled as he opened his eyes from the dream looking at the frost blue of his wife's eyes, and she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he turned his head again to face the canopy of the bed.

"I was already awake..." he said drowsily, and heard her chuckle.

"Liar." her cold hands still running over his definite muscles like the touch of a delicate frozen feather. He sat up and turned, laying his chest on hers where the sensation of her naked breasts could kindle him, supporting himself on his elbows on either side of her. He kissed her as her arms went around his neck and shoulders, pressing him against her. The fingers of his left hand gently caressed her cheek as he pulled back from her, and again he realized the beauty of her anew. Men would die for her, and men would kill for her; there was not much left in between. The day his father promised him to this girl, he resented him for not giving him a choice; but at this moment he wished he could find him again somewhere and fall down at his feet to thank him for this promise, and even after searching for a hundred years on his own he would not find another anything like her. There was nothing he would not do for her, nothing he would not sacrifice.

"What is it?" the fingers that were against her cheek went into her hair.

"I love you, Claira." he whispered, and her hands came back from his shoulders and settled on the smooth of his face, her right ring finger on the base of the scar across his brow, and the palm of her left concealing the one on his jaw as she smiled at him.

"I love you, Raeghun." she returned, and lifted her head while pulling him down to kiss him again, and then his right hand slid across her shoulder to lay on her breast. Regardless of the chill of winter clinging to her, she had a heart warmer than even his own, and he prayed that it would never be left broken. He kissed her again fervently while his hand slid down over her stomach and along her thighs, where the remnants of their previous night were still warm, and heard her slightly gasp before his hand went over her leg to pull her knee past him and settle himself between her thighs; he relished the soft sharp breaths, and her sweet moans against his shoulder as he made love to her again. Ultimately slaked, he left her another moment's rest as he ventured down to the bath chamber to cleanse himself and dressed in brown woollen breeches, boots, and a white tunic under a red jerkin before returning to the bed chamber and sitting down on the edge of the bed where his wife still lay. He ran a hand up her leg from her knee and over her hip to her back.

"You shouldn't take too long, they'll think you're ill." he encouraged, and then leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Al right, I'll just be a moment more..." she said softly as his mouth went from her cheek to her neck. Then he stood and left the lord's wing. A week and a half had passed serenely enough, there were hardly any agitation. Berin who had been so severely annoyed with lord Vega was now complacent and had as far as he could tell ignored Geerd completely for several days until... Raeghun stopped on the grand stairway. He hadn't seen lord Vega in almost a week; and a strange feeling that all was not as serene as he'd hoped slithered like the snake sigil up his back. But he dismissed it and continued on his way to the southern hall, where Milla oversaw preparations for the morning meal, and the delicious odour wafted from cook Jeody's kitchen.

"Good morning, lady Milla." he greeted and she turned, a dress of crimson swaying around her ankles.

"Good morning, lord Raeghun." she curtsied, gracing him with her beautiful smile.

"I trust you had a good evening?" he returned a gentle smile.

"Yes, thank you. There haven't been any 'unexpected' visits for a while. Berin seems calmer, as well." she said.

"Speaking of which, we haven't seen lord Vega in almost a week. Any notions on where he went?" she looked around the hall.

"Perhaps he grew tired of us, and went back to Bristlemane. Someone I know will be overjoyed." he found himself hoping that would be true.

"I doubt that. He planned on staying for my name day." and her face lit up.

"Oh, yes. Are you excited?" he chuckled.

"I think so, but I feel old." she glanced at the floor.

"You'll only turn twenty and one, Raeghun. That's not old." she argued.

"The years keep passing by, at some point I'll have to be carried." he joked, and she shared a laugh with him.

"That would be Berin's duty. I'll carry lady Claira." she offered,

"Such a frail little lady you are, Milla. You'll have to ask Falgon for help." his attention went to the door.

"Which reminds me, guests should start to arrive here any day now. Kindly see to it that the wings are properly prepared for our visitors." he asked, and she nodded.

"Of course, my lord. Anything else?" he breathed in, allowing himself a moment for thought.

"I haven't sparred for a while, and I believe it's about time I got myself back into that routine." he mentioned, and she glanced back at the doorway.

"You've been busy, the days are only so long." she said, and he smiled.

"Now, Milla. That's no excuse to let myself go to waste." he laughed, and she blushed.

"It will still be a while before cook Jeody serves, and Berin should still be inside the hold." she advised, then he thanked her and left the southern hall into the great Hall of Fire. He stopped a moment and looked at the doors, open to the world and revealing the lush green around them. Each day, he had come down these steps facing the same visage, but it never seemed as grand as it did right then. His home. His house. His country. His people. His family. His pride. His fire. His responsibility. He may not be his father, but he was lord Raeghun Taugere, liege and warden of the gold fields of the Corridor. From the Ashes we Rise. Stronger we Rise! Nothing had ever made him feel so strong, and he smiled. He did find Berin in the guard's hall between two young guards who had recently joined their company, inspecting a sword from a pile lying on one of the tables, then threw it down with a bang in frustration.

"These blades are shit!" he took the entire pile from the table and shoved it into the arms of the young guard next to him.

"Take those to the smith to have them reforged." he ordered, and then turned to the other one.

"What the hell are you standing around for? Get the armour, and if that looks like shit too, you'll fix it yourself." the guard moved away with a resistive mumble, and Berin turned to him sharply.

"What did you say?" the young guard turned back.

"Nothing, I'm going." he said, raising his hands.

"Going like a rat through mud. Hurry up!" the guard scampered away, and Raeghun made his way to him.

"Poor boys, what have they done to you?" he asked.

"Not to me, to each other. Our count has two hundred and sixty guards to the hold, and none of them gets under my skin as much as Farze and Dolrey. Arrogant little bastards, I'll have them both whipped before the week is out." Berin muttered, but Raeghun laughed.

"We were there once, too." he reminded, and Berin faced him.

"I never gave ser Holmar this much trouble." he said, frustration dripping like dew from his voice.

"Really? If I recall correctly, you once stuffed his plate mail with horse dung." Raeghun reminded,

"Hey, that wasn't just me,'lord' Raeghun. If I recall correctly, you helped." Raeghun glanced away, feigning his innocence.

"Who, me?" Berin threw a fist at his arm.

"Yes, you." suddenly, they burst out laughing, remembering their youthful days.

"So, as you are in need of an outlet for your frustration, and I am in need of sparring; when you are finished with your thwart I will meet you outside." Berin nodded, just then the young guard returned with a selection of armours. Leaving him to tend to the remainder of his inspections, Raeghun went outside, scanning the bailey of the different faces and guards already at practice. Far at the back stretch black smoke billowed out of the chimney of the castle forge while their master-at-arms oversaw the activities. He was a big man, lean faced and white haired with brown eyes the shade of hazelnuts, and a voice deep and rumbling like thunder. He'd served his family for near to thirty years, and oft had a softer hand than the head of the sentinels. Austinus smiled warmly when he saw his young lord, and came over.

"Good morning, my lord." he greeted.

"Will you be sparring today?" he asked, rather eagerly; and Raeghun chuckled.

"Yes, ser. It's been a while, and I fear that I have neglected my training for too long. Hopefully, I still remember what I've learnt." he mentioned, and the big man laughed.

"My lord, you would not have forgotten anything. Sometimes, the body remembers better than the mind. Swords or fists today?" he asked, and Raeghun glanced at the doorway leading into the barracks.

"Fists. But I may take up a sword tomorrow." he decided, seeming to shove a notion into the mind of their master-at-arms.

"Splendid. Lord Berin has been sparring with ser Falgon quite a bit, and there has been good improvement. But if I may, my lord. Should you take up Quill tomorrow, ser Falgon may be a worthy opponent." he suggested.

"Why say that?" Austinus gave him a thoughtful shrug.

"Well, I dare say that he is the best swordsman in the hold. And he does use a Valyrian steel great sword, like my lord does. These are very difficult weapons to train with, as they would destroy any ordinary blade with a single stroke; but Valyrian steel against Valyrian steel might prove to be something quite different." he told, and Raeghun reflected on that. He had not felt the grip of Quill in his hand for months, and it wasn't the same holding a regular blade in your hand. Steel great swords were heavy and unwieldy. Long swords were easier, but didn't give you the accuracy or balance for a great sword; and the idea drew him more and more.

"I might consider it." he agreed, and then Berin joined them outside.

"You ready?" he asked, placing a hand on Raeghun's shoulder.

"I was waiting for you, Berin." he directed, and then returned his attention to Austinus.

"If you'll excuse me, ser. A bludgeoning awaits me." he said, and then looked back at Berin.

"Or so I hear." they laughed, and then parted from the master-at-arms for an open area while removing their shirts, exposing scarred skin to the breeze.

"Don't hold back on me, Berin. I need it." Raeghun called as they prepared.

"Don't worry, I won't." Berin smiled, and after a moment of examining one another, they moved forward and locked, releasing the restraints of their minds. They moved evenly, judging one another's intentions precisely, and perhaps close to an hour passed as others gathered to watch which blows would land – none did; which shoulders would find the ground first – none did; and finally breathless they decided on a stalemate.

"You're better than before." Raeghun commented, and Berin laughed.

"Perhaps, but I still couldn't beat you, my lord." he said, but Raeghun shook his head.

"You weren't even trying." he suspected, and they shared a tired laugh. A girl appeared in the doorway, dressed in a soft purple gown. Berin recognised her as one of his wife's handmaidens, named Aurelne; a beautiful young thing, slender with long burgundy hair hanging past her shoulders, a soft face with full lips and bright almost violet eyes.

"If it please, my lords. Cook Jeody will be serving soon." she called into the yard; answered by grateful and excited replies. Berin scoffed. If the girl was anything, shy was definitely not one of them. Since coming here, she had shown a definite interest in the sentinels, and even entertained Gavin in his chamber on an occasion or three. They proceeded inside, and washed the filth from their skin before making their way to the feast hall and breaking their fast on sweetened porridge, crisped pork rinds, grease baked crusts, fresh fruits and goat's milk. Family by both blood and bond shared the high table while the rest of the hall was live with soft conversation, and after satisfying their hunger and thirst Raeghun departed the feast hall with Claira at his side.

"Any wishes for this evening's supper, my love?" Claira asked as they ascended the steps of the grand staircase.

"Nothing in particular. Whatever you feel like having Jeody prepare for us will be fine." she paused, and he turned back.

"The stores are full, but I dare say the poultry, pork and mutton is growing overwhelming. If I may request, the hunters could bring something back for us?" she asked, and he smiled.

"We haven't had a hunt in a while. I'm sure our guests will enjoy it as well." he said, and her eyes met his warmly. The morning passed peacefully as it otherwise would, while Berin took the opportunity to invite Luitpold along for their afternoon activity; and by mid day Raeghun stood on the third level having orders given to prepare the horses and bring out the hounds for the hunt. A sentinel came up the steps, smiling broadly.

"My lord. You have a guest." he announced, and Raeghun looked at Berin at his side. Claira and Milla came down from the incline happily with Falgon following.

"Well then, let's not keep them waiting." Raeghun said, grateful that he had asked the wings prepared this morning, and feeling his wife's hands slip around his arm.

"I wonder if it might be dear lord Vega?" he joked, and she smiled at him.

"Oh, no. You'll love this one." she said, and he chuckled.

"So you're not going to tell me who it is?" he urged, supposing that she had seen the arrivals from her common room higher up in the sun tower.

"No." the group left for the outer bailey to greet their visitors. Once stepping from the doorway, a large wheelhouse stood some feet away from the stairs, drawn by four dark horses. Several guards surrounded them, two of them bearing banners displaying a white tower with a burning torch above it, on dark grey. Castle hands were unloading chests from the back of the wagon as a gaunt man stood next to its open door to help someone out. A dress of warm orange appeared, and then silver-gold hair glinted in the sunlight, hanging down past the waist as the young lady appeared and looked up, eyes of summer sky blue set on the lord of Mount Ardor. Raeghun paused. She was more beautiful than he'd imagined. Fair skinned, bright eyed and glowing at fifteen years, and in that moment her hand left that of the man next to her and she ran forward towards him as he raised his arms and her full weight fell against him. He smiled, believing that the day was even brighter.

"Mae, my beautiful sister." his arms tightened around her slim body.

"Raeghun, I've missed you so much." she said, and then pulled back from him.

"I am so happy to see the burning mountain again." she said.

"It's been here for thousands of years, Mae. It's not going anywhere." he joked, and then her attention went to Claira; and they embraced one another as well. She even greeted Berin in the same manner, and he merrily presented his wife whom she had yet to officially meet.

"She's beautiful, Berin." Mae complimented taking Milla's hands.

"I'm sure you'll be very, very happy." she congratulated, and Raeghun reflected. Despite the hardship of their past, she hadn't lost the slightest bit of her lively personality. Then she smiled and turned back to the young man coming up the steps. He formally bowed to them.

"Good day, my lords and ladies." he greeted, and Mae went to him placing her hands on his right arm.

"May I present, my betrothed: lord Cladus Hightower." she announced, and Raeghun came forward extending a hand.

"Welcome to Mount Ardor, my lord. I trust you will enjoy your visit here." he said, and the young lord smiled gratefully. He was a comely young man, with grey eyes and light hair, small for his age but a man grown at eighteen, well mannered and sure-footed.

"Thank you, lord Raeghun. Lady Mae has told me so many marvellous things of the beauty and strength of both people and country; I can see she wasn't exaggerating for an instant. I look forward to our stay." he said, his eyes scanning the people on the steps behind Raeghun. Just then the Kennel master appeared with seven of the castle hounds circling him, aroused at the prospect of running in the woodlands. Large, powerful beasts, quick and quiet and more resembling of wolves than the customary mastiffs. Elkhounds had long been preferred at the burning mountain for their courage, intelligence and energy; both good guard dogs and good hunters.

"Whenever you're ready m'lord." he declared, bringing the group's attention back to the matter at hand.

"We will be out hunting this afternoon. Would you care to join us, lord Cladus?" Raeghun extended his invitation,

"I would enjoy that very much, my lord." he accepted, and Claira brought her hands together.

"Well, that would give us time to have you properly settled in." Raeghun glanced back.

"My sister will accommodate the lord's wing with us, lord Cladus will have one of our finest chambers in the west wing. And your guards are free to find themselves a suitable space in my barracks." he decided as castle hands started carrying the chests up the stairs to the castle. Luitpold came from the hold.

"My apologies for the delay, lord Raeghun." he said coming to them, and then laid eyes on the new arrivals, and extended a hand smiling.

"Good day, my lady. You must be our lord's lovely sister." he said as she gave her hand, and he brought her fingertips to his mouth.

"Good day, my lord. You are too kind." she returned, and then he extended a hand to greet Cladus, and they prepared to leave for the hunt. Claira raised a hand to Mae.

"Come, I'm sure you're exhausted." she ushered, and the young lady issued the group a last endearing smile before turning, suddenly facing a tall figure that in her excitement had gone unnoticed until now. She looked up into the stern features and dark eyes, so high above her that she may have faced the clouds and a sense of dizziness overwhelmed her as her weight pulled her back. Someone from the group moved suddenly forward, but a powerful hand wound gently around her waist and pulled her forward to steady her, and he smiled at her; calm and caring.

"My apologies, my lady. Please be careful." he said bringing his hand away from her, and she moved around him to where Milla's hands found her shoulders.

"Th... Thank you... ser." she stammered, Milla gave him a quick puzzled glance.

"Are you al right?" Cladus asked as he came to her.

"Yes..." she breathed, not taking her eyes away from Falgon at Claira's side.

"I do believe that the wheelhouse has left lady Mae slightly faint, five weeks is a long time." Milla turned to Mae, with a calm smile.

"Come, some pressed grape juice will do you well, my lady." she said smiling, leading the girl into the castle. Raeghun passed a glance between his wife and her sentinel, before his eyes followed the figures vanishing into the hold. Cladus stared at Falgon, not quite sure how to feel; but then the horses were led to the stairway for the group.

"Any requests, my lady?" he asked, breaking the atmosphere, and her eyes met his.

"Anything you bring down, my love." she smiled, and then turned to Falgon.

"Ser Falgon, why don't you join them?" she suggested,

"I'd like to, your grace. But I am afraid that my presence may spoil the hunt; the prey will see me coming a mile off. If it please, I will remain in the hold." she nodded, and then returned her attention to Raeghun giving her approval; and they proceeded down the steps and mounted their steeds before departing. Claira looked up at her sentinel, looking towards the entry to Mount Ardor.

"I apologise, your grace. I seem to have frightened the lady." he mentioned, and she had to smile.

"Well, you are rather intimidating, ser." she joked, and his face came back to hers.

"If I may, would you please apologise to her for me? I will keep my distance from her if she so wishes." he offered,

"I'm sure you just startled her. I'd faint too, if I saw a giant." he laughed, and they turned to retreat back inside.

"Nonetheless, I don't wish for her visit to be uncomfortable." he continued. A serving girl reported that after a short visit to cook Jeody's kitchen, Milla escorted Mae to the lord's wing, as Falgon did for Claira to the doorway. She entered and looked back at him.

"I will send Gavin to your company, you grace." he offered,

"Falgon-" he looked down the hall.

"I will return to your side once I am summoned." he assured and then bowed to her before leaving. Claira sighed, weighing his obstinacy against his courtesy, each outweighing the other on multiple levels of consideration, then shook her head and the thoughts from her mind. She found Milla and Mae in the fourth bed chamber, chosen out for her where a window opened to the Sunset Sea. A little hearth stood ready to be lit against the wall next to it, and a wide bed covered in rich lavender sheets took up the centre of the chamber, with a chest at its feet. Mae sat on the bed with her hands in her lap, and Milla standing beside her. Claira went over to her, kneeling in front of her.

"Are you al right?" she asked, placing loose strands of hair behind her left ear. Mae nodded, not bringing her eyes up from the floor.

"Is something wrong, Mae?" she asked, and then she looked up.

"He scares me..." she whispered, and dropped her head again. Claira stood and sat down on the bed next to her, putting her arms around her.

"Oh, don't worry about him." then she pulled back.

"He did ask me to apologise to you for him. But can I share a little something with you?" she winked at Milla, who smiled and sat down on the other side of Mae.

"You don't ever, ever need to be scared of Falgon. He is my sentinel, like those that protected you, and your mother. Granted he may be a bit intense at times, but when Raeghun is not with me, I feel completely safe when he is near. He is as kind and gentle as he is strong and brave." she told, and Milla leaned slightly forward.

"Lady Claira is right. He has already saved her life on more than a single occasion, and some weeks ago also saved mine. If not for him, we may have been somewhere on a ship bound for Meereen or Yunkai. There is really no reason to fear him." she agreed, and Mae breathed in deeply and then suddenly laughed.

"He's enormous! Where did you find him?" she managed, and Claira chuckled.

"We met at king Robert's Wanderer's Tourney. He was a mercenary then, and fought in the melee. He offered his victories to our house, and Raeghun took him into his service." Mae's eyes came to her, sparked with shock.

"A sell sword? Claira, really?" she nodded.

"How long ago was that?" Claira glanced at her friend.

"Milla, that wasn't too long ago, was it?" she thought for a moment, trying to piece together the timeline.

"Almost ten weeks, maybe less." Mae's hands went to her mouth, astonished.

"You're playing with me." she accused, and Claira laughed.

"No, it's all true, I swear." she assured, and could see her sister's face change as she searched through their history.

"No one has ever entered the sentinels before at least a year of service." she mentioned, and Claira shrugged.

"Falgon was different." she said.

"As I understand, he proved himself to your brother before they even reached Mount Ardor from the tourney. And Berin pledged for him as well. They trust him fully." Milla added, and Mae nodded.

"I'd like to meet him again, if that's al right?" she asked, suddenly shy.

"Of course." A soft knock at the door drew their attention.

"Enter." Milla allowed as she stood, and the door opened as castle hands brought the visitor's belongings inside. After seeing that everything was organised, they left the wing and found Gavin awaiting them at the door.

"Good day, my ladies." he greeted cheerfully, and they returned his fond greeting.

"Gavin, where is ser Falgon?" Milla enquired.

"He is in the Hall of Fire, my lady; in front of the great hearth. I wish I could know what it is that he sees in the flames." he mentioned.

"Good, it's on our way. We'd like some time in the garden." Claira mentioned, and Gavin bowed allowing them to pass. They went down the long hallway and emerged into the Hall of Fire, and coming down the steps they identified the tall figure darkening the light cast by the fire of the hearth. Mae paused for a moment, but followed as Claira glanced back at her smiling.

"Ser Falgon?" he turned and bowed to her.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he asked.

"You may return to my company." she said, and he straightened up, towering above them.

"As you bid, your grace." Mae gently took Claira's hand; and she seemed to understand.

"If you'd be so kind, please kneel." she instructed, and he did so without hesitation, his eyes cast at the stone beneath him. Mae took a gentle breath, and then stepped forward.

"I apologise if I have offended you, ser Falgon." she said, and then he looked up at her, again with his kind smile.

"You could not offend me if you threw an axe at my head, dear lady." he said, bringing a smile to her and he could make out a soft blush on her cheeks. Then she stepped forward, and leaned over to place her lips against his cheek. Soft and warm and fleeting, but without any tremor.

"Thank you." she whispered, and then stepped back allowing him to stand, and he bowed his head before taking a step aside to allow them to pass, and himself to follow them.

The woods were lush and dark, the hounds had caught the scent of a buck easily enough and were now following it through the brush, here and there emitting an eerie howl as the trail became stronger. At some point the kennel master stopped next to one of the dogs, Sash the alpha with his snow white belly and night black back, kneeling down as the creature lay flat on his stomach on the soft ground watching something on the nearby hill. He signalled softly for the party to dismount, and they made their way further on foot, through the trees until they could see the clearing. Concealed by the trees, the shadows of the leaves and bushes they spied the deer grazing on the hillside. The other dogs crept closer, ready to sprint while both Raeghun and Berin took arrows from the quivers and brought it to the bows in their hands, each concealed behind a wide birch while Luitpold, Cladus, Edur and three additional sentinels lingered behind with the horses. They drew the arrows back on the strings, waiting and watching, seizing the opportune moment. They had done this many times, taking up point from different directions. Raeghun ready with the bow, concealed by the shadows, and Berin several feet away facing him being left-handed. Raeghun would release his arrow first to startle the deer, and the arrow from Berin would strike it down. It was a tactic that worked well. The kennel master raised his face, just scanning across the brush and rose his hand to give off the signal for the hounds to give chase. Silence seemed to lay heavy within the woods, and then Raeghun breathed out releasing the arrow from his fingers. The feathers sang through the air and it missed the back of the buck by inches; but it jumped at the sound giving a more defined target; and the second arrow whistled from Berin's fingers, true and sure through the air until... a sudden hard impact hit the trunk of the tree next to Berin's head and a long shaft protruded from the bark.

"Fuck!" he ducked away, and suddenly the others were right there with him, the sentinels scanning the nearby area.

"Are you al right?" Raeghun asked, helping him up from the ground; but Berin kept staring at the arrow that had nearly taken his head.

"Where did that come from?" they heard Cladus ask, and Luitpold laughed.

"Well, what do you know? That buck shits arrows." it lightened the atmosphere, and Berin looked around.

"That could have been my neck... Where is the buck, by the way?" the kennel master approached;

"The arrow hit, m'lord. The hounds took chase. But that ain't no arrow of ours." he said pointing at the shaft in the tree, and a more sombre air settled.

"Assassination?" Edur asked as he ran a finger along the arrow.

"No, I don't think so." Raeghun said as he approached, then took hold of the shaft and pulled it from the tree, examining the tip.

"You there!" they looked back to see a man standing on the hill, a bow clasped in his hand. He had dark hair, strong features to his face with light eyes, and was dressed in black riding boots, black leather breeches, a green doublet and a grey fur lined cloak fastened to his shoulders. The sentinels drew their swords.

"Is anyone hurt?" the man called, and Raeghun stared at him.

"No." he replied, and Edur stepped forward.

"Who are you?" he called, and the man smiled broadly.

"Lord Raeghun Taugere, is that any way to greet family?" he asked, and started down the hill, and Raeghun laughed, finally recognising the stranger and extended his hand which his brother took eagerly.

"Lord Gerald Tormont."

They day passed on under the setting of the sun, the ladies spent their day in the garden, sharing their lives with stories of their homes and its happenings, its people and the world around them while young Rod again played with one of the castle hound pups, and watching the sky darkening slowly over the Sunset Sea where the sun would disappear. A guard came down the path towards them, and then stopped to bow to Claira where she sat next to Mae on a stone bench amidst sweet smelling blue, purple, pink and white Hydrangea blossoms.

"I apologise for interrupting you, milady. Our lord has returned, and bids you to inspect their catch for this evening." he asked, and she stood, smoothing down the front of her gold dress.

"Please pardon me, my ladies. I will join you again shortly." she excused, and then made her way down the pathway, through the hold to the front steps of the castle where she stopped, feeling her heart give an additional beat. Raeghun and the hunting party stood off to one side smiling impishly, the catch having already been sent to the kitchens and the hounds given their rewards. But then she smiled as her composure came back to her, and she proceeded down, gracing a rather extensive party of visitors with a formal curtsy as women and children piled out of a great wheelhouse.

"Welcome my lords and ladies, to Mount Ardor. I trust you will enjoy your stay with us." she greeted, and the man in front of her smiled, regarding her with calm light blue eyes that could have been mistaken for silver, but not quite as striking as her own.

"Thank you, lady Taugere. We've been looking forward to this visit for a while now." he said, his voice calm and peaceful; and then her restraint broke and she threw her arms around his neck. Her father laughed happily as his arms went around her and he picked her up against him away from the ground.

"Adah..." her words were soft against him, returning to her childhood nickname for him.

"My precious, precious winter rose. We've missed you so much." he said as his arms tightened around her. His hair was whiter than she recalled, and had grown out so much that it was now tied with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck; and a full white beard covered his gaunt, withered face; but his smile was still as warm as ever. He set her down, and she was free to greet the other guests, her mother who was still as beautiful as she remembered; her brothers, Gerald who stood beside her husband smiling, and Rhegard who had just come of age, and little minx who had become a lovely young woman. Then her attention went to the additional house that joined them, in their black, white and silver; lord Eddard and lady Catelyn Stark with a stout boy of six, a pretty little girl of three with rich auburn hair and a babe that had barely seen a year. At the entry way of the wheelhouse, on the hand of a maid was yet another boy with black hair and black eyes, that regarded them all. Claira welcomed everyone happily, and had instruction given that all were presented adequate accommodation to their needs while the party conversed on their day's events and darkness settled over the castle. A tall figure emerged from the light of the hold, coming down the steps and stopped next to Claira bowing.

"My apologies for the disturbance, your grace. Lady Milla has requested that you be informed that cook Jeody will be serving soon." he said, and she smiled at him.

"Thank you." she went to her husband, still speaking with the other lords.

"My love, if it please you, the banquet will begin soon." she said, and he nodded.

"My lords, my ladies; come. Let us feast together." he announced, and they made their way inside. In his calmness, Claira's father stood examining the sentinel as the others entered and Claira came back to him.

"Whenever you're ready, father." he looked at her.

"In a moment, sweetling. You haven't introduced us, yet." he hinted, and she smiled, glancing up at Falgon.

"May I present my father, lord Willmon Tormont, The Grey Tom and lord of Pale Haven." she said, and Falgon turned to him bowing respectively.

"Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your excellence." he greeted, and she turned to her father.

"Father, this is ser Falgon of the Fire Hall. He is my most trusted sentinel, and my dear, dear friend." Falgon spared her a quick glance, seeming surprised at her choice of words.

"The pleasure is mine, ser. But your excellence? Now there's something that has not been heard in a long time. I believe that the phrase was used to address a superior during the Age of Heroes. My youngest daughter likes to read stories from that time. Her favourite is about Karjen the Faithful. Have you read it?" he asked curiously.

"I can't recall, your excellence. I've read many books." Falgon said, but Willmon remained smiling and then glanced at her.

"Hearing her speak, you are very protective of my daughter." he calculated.

"Your daughter is my queen, your excellence. She gave me every reason to my existence. There is nothing I would not do for her." the sentinel insisted, easing the lord in front of him.

"I am exaltedly pleased to hear that. She is my most precious, and it brings me great relief that she is loved and cared for, and well protected." he said, seeing Falgon smile.

"There is no greater honour, than keeping her grace safe. Her contentment is my only wish." he said.

"What an interesting man you are, ser Falgon. Were you born here in the Corridor?" he continued to ask as he raised a hand to signal their retirement into the hold.

"No, your excellence. I was born in the west, but I left my home long ago. And I've been wandering ever since." Falgon told,

"Until you found my daughter." Willmon assumed, and Falgon chuckled.

"Until she found me, rather. Among the lowest of the low, fighting for the pleasure of those who would look down upon me. She took me from that, she gave me a name, and a home, and a purpose. A purpose other than just surviving from one day to the next." he continued, and Willmon nodded, reflecting on that.

"Good. That's good. Tell me, Falgon; have we met before? You seem so familiar to me." Willmon asked as he looked at him again.

"No, your excellence. This is the pleasure of our fist meeting." Falgon said as they walked through the Hall of Fire to the southern feast hall.

"I see. Still, I can't rid myself of this notion that I know you from somewhere..." her father insisted.

"I'm sure you would have recalled, your excellence. I'm a hard man to miss, I dare say." he laughed, and Willmon shared the humour.

"Well, you are right about that, ser. But, I will remember it eventually." they stopped at the door, and Claira ventured further into the hall joining their people who had already started to assemble for their feast.

"Well, I should rejoin my family. If we do not get the opportunity to speak again, I bid you a good night, ser." Willmon said, and Falgon bowed his head to him.

"And a peaceful evening to you as well, your excellence." he greeted before the lord moved off to take a place at the high table. Falgon lingered there a moment, deciding that he may return to the guard's hall for the remainder of the evening, then felt a gentle tug on his cloak and turned back to see a girl dressed in a light lime coloured dress with gold thread seams, and a pretty face with pink slightly rounded cheeks, dark brown locks and warm brown eyes looking up at him.

"You're my sister's guardian, aren't you?" she asked, and he knelt so his eyes may meet hers evenly.

"I am, my lady." he confirmed, and she glanced away from him for an instant, towards the people assembling in the hall.

"You won't let anything happen to her, right?" she asked softly, as if somewhere deep down she expected danger to follow them, and then returned her eyes to his.

"Never." he promised with a smile, and then she returned it; her eyes softening in comfort, then she turned and joined her family. They dined on garlic roasted deer, cream baked potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, buttered turnips, smoked vegetables and stewed fruit with warm custard all while performers filled the hall with merry song; before retiring to bed for the evening.

Claira woke before sunrise, trying to stifle a sudden desire for a delicacy she'd not had since leaving Pale Haven. Cook Jeody was blessed in his talent, and all his presentations were fulfilling; but she could not deny that she longed for Arima's pastries. However, gifted as he was, perhaps their own kitchen master could recreate them, and given his eccentric practice, perhaps his effort would equal them. She sat up quietly, making sure her husband was still asleep before standing and throwing on a dress in the dark and silently making her way out of the chamber and down the stairway. She moved through the lord's hall and stole away into the corridor before softly closing the door, as not to wake any of the others, and then went down to the castle kitchens. She found their cook already stocking the ovens with wood, one already alight and burning heartily. He was a short heavy-set man with a bald head, clean round face, glinting black eyes and thin lips, and he was kind and cheerful. She had many times heard the scullions and pages speak of how much enjoyment they found in the kitchen under his watch; then he looked up and smiled at her.

"Good morning, my lady. You're up early?" he said, in a voice higher than one would expect from a man his size.

"Good morning. I'm afraid I've come with an early request." she said, making her way down the little steps into the kitchen, and Jeody put a thick wiping cloth down on the table.

"Anything, my lady." he said, and waited for his request.

"Jeody; we've had a long and rather eventful day yesterday, and I believe more will follow. Would you please prepare crispels for our guests, and ensure that there are enough for the castle hands as well?" she asked, and he stared at her for a moment, his eyes temporarily vacant of any thought, which she found odd as those same eyes sparkled when met with a request for sweetness.

"Uhm... Crispels, my lady?" she chuckled.

"You don't know them?" he shook his head, she could almost see sorrow pulling at his mouth, but she smiled and moved forward; remembering every day she spent watching Arima in the kitchen of the white castle.

"It's so easy, I'll show you." she said reaching for a bowl waiting on the table.

"No no, my lady! I can't let you grime your hands, your lord husband will have my head." Jeody protested raising his hands to stop her, but she disregarded him and reached past, taking hold of the bowl.

"He won't know." she said softly.

Falgon sat at his usual place in front of the fire, a book open in his hand, but his mind was wandering and he only took in a word or two here-and-there. He thought of the many years he spent on the roads, but the memories were vague. He recalled high towers, strong walls and little houses under thatched roofs, and green fields, red leaves, shadows under trees, blue skies, white clouds, rain and sun and wind and stars, camp fires and rolling wheels, towns, castles, people, faces, smiling and sad and enraged... but nothing seemed so clear as his past two moons here. His eyes closed, and for just an instant he could see her eyes again. Clear green eyes, but the features were clouded and dark; then it changed and the eyes changed. He opened his to the light of the fire, casting the memory aside with a resentful grimace. That time is gone... Here is what matters now. He threw the book down and put his hand to his face. Here is what matters now... Here I found a home. Among these people I belong... He stood, deciding to exchange the heat of the hearth for the cool breeze outside. He took Summit, resting against the wall beside him, and replaced it on its place on his back. He didn't feel its weight at all any more, it felt almost strange not to have it on him. This sword had become as much a part of him as his own still beating heart, and apart from the memories, was the only remembrance he brought with him from his past. This, and one other thing. His hand went to his arm, the fingers touching a band of woven black, brown and white leather strips tied between the muscles of his upper left arm, normally hidden beneath the cloak around his shoulders. It had been there so long, he'd forgotten about it on several occasions. He stepped out into the cool of the night, looking up at the stars from the inner bailey where the guards trained. They were bright, and he could almost reflect on how many times he spent the extent of time when the sun set to when it rose just watching them, and trying to count them. Even after all these years he still didn't finish, he stopped at twelve thousand somewhere as the sky started to grow lighter just as it was now, and the horizon became shades of purple... He turned as an excited voice sounded from inside, and decided to investigate while there was naught else to do. He made his way through the guard's hall and into the Hall of Fire, glimpsing the light coming from the kitchen, from where the voice also came. He proceeded forward, and stepped through the door to see Jeody next to Claira who was smiling happily, his lips around his thumb and a plate of freshly baked confectioneries steaming on the table.

"My lady, these pastries are magnificent! I will make them every day." the cook exclaimed as he brought his hand away from his face.

"Well, I'm glad you like them, Jeody. You can add any garnish, mint leaves, nuts, even lemon zest." she said, and Falgon came down the steps.

"Your grace." she turned, a flash of surprise in her beautiful blue eyes.

"Ser Falgon. I was just showing... TELLING! Telling, Jeody how to make crispels." she explained, and he looked down.

"And I assume flour and milk splattered all over your lovely hands?" he noted, and she looked to see her hands covered in blotches of pastry dough, and subconsciously wiped her hands down the front of her dress.

"Oh... this... I... Please, don't tell my husband." she looked up at him, knowing that he would not be fooled. He grinned, and took a step closer to her.

"I could be persuaded, to keep your secret." he mentioned, standing barely an arm's reach away from her. She breathed in deep, and then looked towards the table. She took a small honey drizzled pastry from the plate, and presented it to him. He looked at it, and after a moment of hesitation gingerly took the still warm treat from her hand. He examined it and then slowly brought it to his mouth, placed half of the pastry between his lips and bit down. He savoured it, the taste, the texture.

"What do you think?" The pastry was warm and soft and sweet and light and pleasing. For the first time since leaving his home, something didn't taste like sulphur and sawdust, whether it be because it was presented by his queen or their cook's magical talent he couldn't say.

"It tastes... like the kiss of a lady." he said softly, and he watched the expression on her face change for an instant to shock before he smiled and laughed.

"I'm joking. I won't tell him, I swear. It's delicious." he mentioned before finishing the pastry, and she shared his laugh relieved and then his attention came back to her.

"But I dare to say that the hold is starting to wake, and some may wonder about your circumstances." she looked down, at the white stains left by her hands and gasped.

"Oh, seas of green! How will I ever make it to the lords wing without being seen?" Falgon turned slightly, raising his arm.

"Come, your grace. May I advise to stay close?" he covered his brown cloak over her, and led her from the kitchen through the hold, staying to the shadows as much as possible. She pressed herself close to his tall hard frame, mirroring his steps as they walked, and an interesting odour enveloped her. It was earthy, like when two stones were ground together and it reminded her of a new building. Suddenly he stopped, and she heard footsteps coming down the incline.

"Falgon, have you seen my wife." she heard her husband's voice and she held her breath, pressing her hand over her mouth and nose.

"She may be with Maester Adlyn, sire. I was on my way there, myself." Falgon replied calmly, she stood absolutely still hoping that she will be shielded from his view.

"Is something wrong?" she heard Raeghun ask.

"No, sire. I have no qualms." Falgon replied, her heart was beating so fast she feared that it could be heard.

"Well, when you do see her, please ask her to join us in the feast hall." he requested,

"As you bid, sire." Falgon acknowledged, and she heard the footsteps passing them, but then her sentinel took a step back around her, and she heard Raeghun's voice again.

"And Falgon, meet me in the inner bailey a little later on, I'd like to test my sword skill against yours." he instructed, and then vanished. Claira breathed out, feeling light headed for a moment before she leaned against him. Falgon raised his arm and looked at her.

"Are you al right, your grace?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Come." he ushered her further up the incline to the door of the lord's wing where she slipped from his cloak, and laughed as she opened the door and stepped inside, she turned back to him, seeing him smile.

"Thank you, ser Falgon. I must say I haven't had that much fun for a while." she breathed, leaning against the door.

"It was my pleasure, your grace. But I'd urge you to hurry to your lord husband's side, as requested." he said, and she smiled at him a last time before vanishing into the wing. He waited there until she returned, redressed in a wide gown of soft pink with open shoulders and long wide sleeves, a circlet of gold and ruby around her throat.

"You didn't need to wait for me, Falgon." she said as she closed the door behind her.

"My place is at your side, your grace; until I am commanded otherwise." he insisted, and she folded her hands in front of her stomach and he regarded her.

"Are you sure you're al right, your grace?" he asked. She did feel odd, not enough to complain, but noticeable.

"Yes, why do you ask?" she said, glancing away.

"No reason in particular." he said, and then she turned.

"Well, my husband awaits." he escorted her down the hallways, meeting the serving girls, handmaidens and castle hands along the way, all greeting her avidly. As they entered the Hall of Fire, she found her father in front of the great hearth, watching the flames.

"Good morning, father." she greeted, and he turned towards her.

"Good morning, sweetling." he smiled warmly, and then looked at Falgon.

"And to you, ser." Falgon bowed.

"Good morning, your excellence." Willmon's attention went back to Claira.

"If you wouldn't mind it too much, ser. May I have a moment alone with my daughter? I will see her to her husband after." he asked, and Falgon nodded.

"Of course, your excellence." he turned, and left them to their moment. Claira looked up at her father.

"Is everything al right, Adah?" she asked, and he took her hands in his.

"Everything is fine, my winter rose. I just wanted to ask how you were doing, how you were feeling. It's been over three years, and you're more beautiful now than I could ever remember." he said, placing his left hand to her face. Her free hand covered his.

"Oh, Adah. I miss Pale Haven, but I am very happy here. These years have been wonderful, everyone has treated me kindly, save for one or two exceptions; and Raeghun is very loving. You could not have chosen a better husband for me." she said softly, and he brought his face closer to hers to place his lips against her brow before drawing back.

"That makes me happier than you know." he whispered, allowing his memories to go back seventeen years. The current lord of Winterfell's father, Rickard Stark was with him. It was in the dark of night that they rode deep into the woods that bordered Long Lake to find the ancient standing stones, and where he met the sage that stayed his daughter's life. Please, please save her... He'd begged the hunched over little man with eyes white as mist. You are not the first to come here, sire. The little man said, his voice soft and slow. Please, please save my daughter. He begged again, and the little man smiled at him. I will do what I can, sire. But I caution you, that should she live, you must be willing to give. The little man said as he held out is hands to take the baby. Anything, I'll give you anything you want if you save my daughter's life. Willmon promised without a thought, and released his tiny two pound, white haired child into the hands of a stranger. It is not to me that you must give, sire. The sage said with a kind smile before turning and moving off to the centre of the stone circle. At that moment, Rickard's hand clamped down on Willmon's shoulder. This may not be worth it, my friend. he cautioned, but the lord of Pale Haven's desperation for his daughter was stronger. This is the life of my daughter, Rickard. It is worth everything, and more... A fire sparked between the stones, and the sage lay the child on a stone altar, surrounded by the flames, and a light glowed above her, blue and clear as frost while small flakes settled on her, and he was met with those words. The Breath of Winter, will meld with Bright Fire and Dead Stone. And when Winter comes again, it is the Atronach that will stand in Flames and Snow. Know that if your daughter has the strength to live, winter will be in her always and she will be its breath. Will you yield her to flame? Will you relinquish her to stone? And then his answer came immediately, Yes. And images flooded his mind, images of fire, of frost, of stone, of eyes, blue and bright and burning, a clash between light and dark, between cold and warm, between life and death... When he regained consciousness his friend knelt beside him, and the sage stood by with the child in his hands. Through the throb to his skull he stood, and received his daughter. The colour returned to her skin, her hair turned black, save for small white wisps.Your daughter will live, sire. But winter will always be within her... He made a promise, the night she was saved from the frost. He had promised her to flame and stone without a thought, long before he understood what it could mean. From there he watched her grow, he watched her become beautiful, he watched her be loved for her grace, and be shunned for her difference all the same. And then the rebellion came. Flame he realized suddenly when he entered this hall eight years ago with lord Stark and lord Baratheon, but the rest he had yet to learn. But he had comfort knowing that she was safe here.

"Adah?" he returned to her frost blue eyes.

"What's wrong?" he smiled at her again, and took her face gently in his hands.

"Nothing, my sweet winter rose. Nothing is wrong. I just... We've truly missed you, that's all." and then he chuckled.

"And I must say, I'm rather anxious to meet my grandchild." he added, and she looked down placing her hand gently to her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Adah-" he put his arms around her, silencing her.

"There's no rush, Claira. You're still young, there's lots of time. Never mind what anyone else tells you." he said, and she eased into him.

"I want it, Adah. I want it so much..." his hands rubbed her back.

"I know. But don't worry, the best things take the longest time, sweetling." he soothed.

"Thank you." then he released her.

"Come, your husband is waiting." he guided her towards the feast hall where they were waited upon, Falgon stood by the doorway to receive orders. Raeghun stood with Berin at one of the tables, discussing the plans for the day while Milla oversaw the preparations, dressed in a gown of warm yellow. Claira and her father joined them, as he reached out a hand for her.

"There you are, I've lost you this morning." he joked, and they continued the conversation with their family and guests for a while before Aurelne came from the kitchens, announcing that it will still be a while before their cook serves; but that the visitors were welcome to share the hall and each other's company over the new delicacies while they waited, and then her eyes settled on the sentinel in the doorway whom did not seem to notice her at all, then Raeghun put his hand on Berin's shoulder.

"Well then, I suppose it is time that I resume my training." he said, and then looked at Falgon.

"Ser Falgon, be so kind as to meet me outside with your sword, will you?" Falgon bowed.

"As you bid, sire." he agreed, and headed off through the Hall of Fire for the outer bailey. Claira looked at her husband.

"Raeghun..." she didn't know what to say, but he smiled and put his arms around her.

"There is nothing to be anxious for, my sweet." he assured, and then looked at Berin and his guests Willmon, his sons and lord Stark.

"If it please you, you're welcome to attend our sparring." he invited, and they smiled excitedly.

"That will be something very interesting to see, we've heard tales of the skills of the men of the Corridor." Eddard said, but Claira felt a queer unease twisting in her stomach like a salmon struggling upstream.

"Raeghun, please..." she couldn't understand why she felt this way. She couldn't rid herself of this unnatural restiveness, and he regarded her closely.

"Claira, it's just training." he assured, and she looked down, her hand again resting on her abdomen.

"I know. I know it's just training... I just..." she didn't know why. She couldn't understand herself at this point, and then he turned to a nearby squire.

"Retrieve Quill from the lord's wing for me, please." he instructed, and the squire left after a quick bow. Claira breathed in deeply, and then glanced at the doorway behind them.

"If you'll please pardon me for a moment, my lords." she excused, and left the feast hall, stealing away to the outer bailey where Falgon waited.

"Falgon." he bowed to her.

"How will I serve, your grace?" she looked at him, feeling confused.

"You're sparring with my husband..." he smiled as he nodded, and seemed to understand.

"I will not strike at him, your grace. Not unless I am commanded otherwise." he said, and she felt somewhat relieved, and nodded thankfully before returning to their company. The group made their way outside, still continuing their conversation, and then exited through the doors to the bailey. Raeghun breathed in the air as he examined his opponent. He had removed the cloak from his shoulders, and left it on the hay bales lining the outer wall before he patiently waited with Summit in front of him, the tip digging into the ground and his palms resting on the pommel. Numerous scars from nicks and cuts marred his powerful arms. The others found places around the sparring ring.

"Are you ready?" Raeghun asked as he moved forward, and Falgon regarded him calmly.

"Whenever you are, sire." he said, and then the squire emerged from the door, holding the grip of the lord's great sword for Raeghun. He took it, feeling the leather against his skin, the way it moulded to the shape of his hand for a solid hold. He pulled it from the sheath, raising the blade; and secretly marvelled at the way the steel sparked in the light, like it was laughing to see the sun and then he moved forward and faced the sentinel, who as was normal for him, just stood there watching his lord.

"Prepare yourself, sentinel." Raeghun insisted, and his opponent smiled. Claira stood next to her father, watching them both as her hands wrung in front of her chest.

"I am very prepared, sire. You may strike at any time, should you so wish." Falgon said. Raeghun gripped the sword tightly in his hands, and after a moment of silence through the bailey, he shot forward into an attack. Falgon parried easily, rising his blade and sending the attack away from him. He stepped away and brought the hilt of the sword around towards Raeghun's back, but he countered, bringing his body around with the sword in an arch and blocked the attack, forcing it away from him and lunged forward again into another attack which was blocked and forced away. Claira watched as they engaged, the beautiful, terrible medley of battle ringing in her ears, each clash of steel against steel leaving yet another shard of ice in her chest. Raeghun rose the sword in front of him.

"Come Falgon, for the best swordsman in the hold, you can do better than that." he urged, and the dark eyes met his.

"I can, sire. But I would rather not." he insisted, and for an instant Raeghun's eyes went to his wife.

"Fuck your promise! Wield your sword against me, and show me my limit." he ordered, and the dark eyes went to the ground before coming up to him again, sharp and clear.

"As you bid, sire." He took hold of Summit's grip with both hands, and brought the blade up level with his chest.

"When you're ready, sire." he said, spreading his feet for balance.

"Good." Raeghun shot forward, raising Quill up and bringing the blade down hard, and it sang against Summit's edge, the blow forcing the sentinel back, and Claira watched with the others as a terrible clash unfolded before them. Falgon brought the blades up and away from him, spun and brought the blade around in an arch aimed for the lord's side, he blocked again guiding the attack away; he drew back and aimed the hilt at the sentinel's face, who twisted his own sword and caught the cross guard on his own. He forced it away, and over in an arch before aiming the blade into the ribs again, but the lord forced the blade down into the ground with his sword before throwing his weight forward and thrusting a shoulder into the sentinel's chest, forcing him back and creating distance between them. Raeghun smiled as they rose, and brought the sword up again.

"Better, but you're still not trying hard enough." he mentioned.

"Your lady will have me burnt if I released my full skill against you, sire." Falgon said, and Raeghun stepped forward.

"You are not under her command now, you are under mine. Show me why we chose you." he said, and the sentinel brought his sword up again.

"As you wish." he readied himself.

"Good." Raeghun moved forward again, and they met in all their suppressed fury. The blades danced, and they sang, and they swirled and they rang as the others watched. Claira's hands went to her face subconsciously, the ice spreading through her into a relentless shiver and the ache the melody brought about her sounded loud in her head. Raeghun swung, Falgon ducked, Raeghun blocked, Falgon stepped, Raeghun turned, Quill came around, Summit went up, Quill forced in, Summit brought down, and Claira closed her eyes. Someone fell, the tip of a sword pierced the ground where his head was as he rolled away, shot up and forward. Her hand reached out, and found a strong arm of someone next to her.

"Berin, please stop this. Please." she begged, not opening her eyes; but she could hear his voice, soft and gentle.

"My lady-" he started.

"Please Berin." she begged, their power was too much; this force, this rage that bordered on blood-lust... and she heard him sigh just before another terrifying blow rang along the walls.

"Raeghun!" the lord looked at his friend from his position in front of the sentinel who was down on one knee, their swords locked securely together, Quill's blade suspended over Falgon's shoulder where Summit's cross guard held it in place.

"Enough." Berin said calmly, and Raeghun breathed out as he brought the sword away from the sentinel. He eased, and stood then; replacing his sword on his back calmly, as if the clash was nothing but a summer dance. Raeghun signalled for the squire to retrieve Quill from him.

"So, how did I fare against our finest swordsman?" he asked, suddenly calmer as well as he slipped the blade back in its sheath, feeling the tingle to his hand as his skin came away from the leather. Falgon smiled at him.

"Very well, sire. Your form is close to perfect, but you might consider lessening the force behind your strikes, this tilts your balance." he said, and Raeghun looked at the others.

"I've enjoyed this. It's a shame we've been... cut short." he said, and then looked back at Falgon.

"But we will have other opportunities." he assured smiling, and Falgon bowed his head.

"Of course, sire." he agreed, and Raeghun left him to join his guests who started retreating back into the hold. Claira stepped forward, and then stopped. She wanted to go to him, but her legs wouldn't move and then Berin moved away from her side towards Falgon. Raeghun stood in front of her then, looking down at her.

"You stopped us, didn't you?" he asked softly, and she looked away from him not knowing how to respond.

"This isn't a game, Claira. The men need this, I need this." she didn't look at him.

"I know..." she whispered,

"If training bothers you that much, it may be best that you don't attend." then she looked at him,

"I'm sorry, Raeghun." suddenly, she turned and left while he stood watching her, and Berin returned to his side, and he sighed wondering. Then he felt a hand to his shoulder.

"Shall I speak with her?" Berin asked, and Raeghun looked at him.

"Whatever you wish." and his friend smiled.

"Don't be angry, Raeghun. We have a tendency to... push our limits against Falgon. To match our speed and strength to his, but I'm afraid his tranquillity will never be ours." he mentioned, glancing back over his shoulder. Then he moved away from him into the hold to seek out the lady of Mount Ardor. Berin moved through the Hall of Fire, registering the many different faces, but none the one he was looking for. He found Milla in the southern hall, and went to her placing his arms gently around her.

"My sweet, have you seen our lady?" he asked softly, and she looked up at him.

"She passed through here to the garden. Why?" she asked, and he kissed her cheek.

"I just need to have a quick word with her, that's all. Was she alone?" his eyes went up to the wide doorway displaying their unrestrained garden.

"I think so." then he released her, and moved around her.

"Thank you. We won't be long." he assured, and made his way outside and followed the garden trail. He found her on a stone bench near the back of the garden where a fountain spewed its clear water, she was gazing over the blue of the Sunset Sea, looking rather hapless. He approached slowly.

"Claira?" her hand went to her face to wipe away a hidden tear from her right cheek.

"Have you come to tell me how stupid I'm being, Berin?" she asked, and he smiled as he sat down next to her.

"No. You're the lady of Mount Ardor, I'm not allowed to do that." he joked, and she lightly smiled. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I know it was training. I know they're supposed to better themselves, I just..." she mentioned, and he breathed in.

"Then you understand why, especially Raeghun, is so severe about it. You increase your skill, by pushing beyond the limits you know. He is strong, and brave, and he wants to be the best that he can be, for all of his people." Berin explained, and she looked at him.

"He is the liege lord, he has nothing to prove to anyone." she said, and his eyes went to the ocean.

"Well, not to you. Not to me. Not to the rest of the hold. Not to his vassals. Not to the soldiers, or the hunters, or the farmers. But perhaps, he's trying to prove something to himself. Since very young, his father has been rather hard on him, preparing him for this role that he must fill; and I'm afraid he believes that it came a little early despite his capability." Berin said, and she wiped away another tear.

"He is a wonderful lord; he is kind and fair." Berin smiled.

"That he is, there is no dispute. And he needs our support, in any way we can give it." she nodded, and then breathed in. He examined her.

"A flame burns inside of every man. Some things stifle it, and other things fuel it. The exhilaration of battle, is one of such things; and that fire burns more brightly in the Taugere lords than any other. To them, there's no difference between sparring and actual battle, and they encourage this. So, if there were, and there were to come a day that we must defend ourselves, our people may stand there and not know what to do in a life-and-death clash." he further explained, and she nodded.

"I understand, Berin. It was just too much for me today..." her eyes remained on the blue of the horizon.

"Are you feeling al right?" he suddenly asked, and she looked at him.

"I'm fine, why do you ask?" she said quickly, and he laughed.

"You're not normally this emotional. Perhaps you may consider paying our maester a visit?" he said.

"And tell him what?" she looked away from him with a slight flout.

"Fuck me if I know, my lady. But you are a woman, and the lord's wife after all. You may have your... off days, now and again." he hinted, and she blushed.

"I'm not sick, Berin. I just feel... strange. I'll go see him later." she decided, and then he stood.

"Wonderful. Now, may I have the honour of escorting my lady back to the hold?" he asked as he held his arm for her. She stood and placed her hand on his elbow.

"Thank you, Berin." she could manage a genuine smile.

"Any time, Claira." he smiled back, and together they made their way back to the feast hall where the morning meal was being served, and she took her place next to her husband at the high table with their families. He leaned over towards her.

"I'm sorry, about earlier." he whispered, and her brow touched his.

"I understand." he smiled gratefully, and their attention went to those around them.

The morning progressed peacefully within the hold as people shared their lives and the comings and goings of their homes. By mid-morning Claira went up to maester Adlyn's tower, but he could not determine any peculiarities, and she rejoined the visiting ladies in her common room where they shared the afternoon while the children were given freedom of the garden under the care of their watchers. Ladies Alyssa, Bea, Mae, Carissa and Milla sat with needlework in their hands, sharing their knowledge of basic and elaborate stitches, spoke of dancing, great feasts of their holds, upcoming marriages and growing families while Catelyn held her youngest in her arms. Claira sat down next to her mother and picked up a hoop from the large basket that held their restful interests, with a half finished representation she started for a pillow. The basket was done, but she still had many flowers to add. Catelyn leaned forward slightly, smiling and pointing at the master work in Alyssa's hands, the visage of a lord dancing with his lady in front of a great hearth, her dress the colours of peacock feathers. Claira smiled, her mother had an exceptional talent for capturing life from the world, recreating it in her mind and bringing it out through her hands. A talent that sadly, she never inherited. The closest thing to music her hands ever touched was an old harp that was cracked and out of tune; and her singing voice never blossomed either.

"What a beautiful piece, my lady." Mae complimented, and Alyssa smiled warmly, her eyes soft and lethargic.

"Thank you, child. My grandmother once told me, the world can either be as it is, or as we see it." she mentioned, her eyes going to Claira.

"I decided long ago, to see it clearly and without darkness." Claira smiled, knowing what she meant. The world can either be as it is, or as we see it... The sound of a horn blowing in the distance made Milla stand and go to the window to scan the outside world; then she turned to Claira.

"My lady, banners from the south." she announced, and Claira stood to join her. Over the fields came a progression flying banners in black, gold, and crimson; bright in the mid day sun.

"Well, this is quite unexpected." she looked at Milla,

"I suppose we'll be expected to meet them outside." then she turned to the others.

"My ladies, it seems that our good sovereigns has seen fit to join us for this grand occasion. Shall we meet them?" they discarded their works and headed down through the halls to the outer bailey, the lords had already been informed of the coming storm, and waited outside with the rest of the burning mountain's inhabitants. The ladies took their places beside the lords, and the sentinels lined behind them; then the guards and handmaidens and serving girls and castle hands, the scullions and pages and squires and stable boys, even cook Jeody and maester Adlyn deserted their preferred seclusion to meet the king. First entered the banner-men bearing the stag and the lion, then the guards, then a great grey charger with king Robert on its back surrounded by the white cloaked knights, lord commander of Robert's kingsguard ser Barristan Selmy, ser Boros Blount, ser Mandon Moore and ser Preston Greenfield. Followed by a bright bay mounted by a tiny man, more guards in crimson and leather and a wagon holding their personal effects drawn by a dark mare. Everyone knelt as the king dismounted and approached Raeghun.

"Welcome your grace, to Mount Ardor." he greeted, and Robert stood silently for a moment, then signalled for them to stand. As he straightened, the king smiled at him, blue eyes clear and cheerful. "It's bigger than I remember." he mentioned, and Raeghun scoffed.

"You were in a bit of a hurry the last time you were here, your grace. You didn't have the opportunity to enjoy my home." he said, and Robert laughed.

"True, and now I do. Blessed name day to you, lord Taugere." they shook hands.

"Thank you. But it's not until tomorrow." Raeghun corrected.

"Others take your damned accuracies. The feast starts tonight! I haven't come all this way to starve my cravings for another night." Robert declared loudly, and Raeghun had to relent. The king gets what the king wants...

"Very well, my people will see to the preparations. But I must say that your visit is somewhat surprising." he scanned the faces behind the king, missing several among them.

"I had planned to be here for your Horn Festival, but we were delayed along the way. The queen and her company turned back to King's Landing before we even reached Darry as my youngest caught some kind of fever passing Harroway's Town." Robert told, and Raeghun's eyes came back to him.

"Would it not have been better for you to be with them then, your grace?" he asked.

"What use am I against sickness? Let the maester do what he can, and I will see my son when I return." he waved it off.

"Well, I hope you will enjoy your stay at the burning mountain, your grace." Raeghun welcomed him, and then the castle hands started unloading the cart.

"Thank you, lord Raeghun. I trust that I will." Robert said, and proceeded to greet the rest of the lords and ladies heartily, those that he knew, and met for the first time. Raeghun turned to Claira.

"So, any ideas?" he asked, and she laughed.

"King Robert may have the fern apartment in the east wing, I'm sure it will be sufficient. I'll just tell Jeody to have the kitchen take up arms, I'm sure they'll create something spectacular. You know him, he'll serve whatever we have if he's not given specific instructions." she said.

"Good day, my lord and lady." they turned to the little man, suddenly standing next to them.

"Good day, lord Tyrion. How good of you to join us, I trust you will have a pleasant stay here." Raeghun extended his hand, and Tyrion took it happily.

"Thank you, I've wanted to visit Mount Ardor and this was the perfect opportunity." he turned to Claira.

"Still as fair as our first meeting." he complimented, taking her hand and placing the fingertips to his mouth.

"That's kind of you, my lord. Welcome." she returned, and Tyrion spared a glance at the man behind her.

"And to you, ser. Glad to see you're still here." he said, and was greeted with a kind and knowing smile.

"Good day, my lord. It is here where I will remain." he said, and Tyrion laughed.

"Fantastic. Loyalty still lives in this world." he joked, and they headed inside while preparations were set to start the awaited feast early.

While rearrangements were made in the southern feast hall for the merriment, scores of consumables were rushed from the stores to cook Jeody's kitchen; turkey and pork and fish and carrots and cabbage and potatoes and turnips and broccoli and beets and peppers and peas and cheese and cream and honey and figs and grapes and pears and plums; barrels of wine, red, white and pink, mead and ale and cider; by the time the sun disappeared over the blue of the Sunset Sea the southern hall was decorated with garlands of flowers from the gardens, draping of black, red, orange and yellow spanned the walls all lit by the warmth of the hearths, and the tables set with shining silver. The lives of the hold, high and low, guest and dweller all assembled to celebrate the name of the great phoenix. They shared news from around the realm, spoke of tournaments and their champions, told of the recent excitement of the Horn Festival, discussed arts and hobbies, reflected on the past and predicted the future while a jester drew both laughs and scowls from each corner of the hall, and children bawled, bellowed, shrieked and laughed.

"So, you're the head of Mount Ardor's Sentinels of Flame? I've heard quite a few tales about them over the years." Ser Barristan enquired while he shared a horn of clear mead with Berin.

"I am. It's a great honour, and requires more than a bit of luck. Our order numbers ten members, and is not too dissimilar from the kingsguard, albeit not as widely renowned or strict. Like yours, our duty is the safety and attendance of the lord and lady, and their heirs; but we are allowed to have families of our own. Lady Claira's court maiden, lady Milla became my wife near to a fortnight ago." Berin explained.

"I see. But balancing that is a lot of responsibility, for someone so young." Barristan reflected, but Berin smiled.

"We are chosen for our skill and commitment, and assigned to the family in that accordance. No one has become a Sentinel of Flame before at least a year of service in the guard, and that is to say that they worked very hard to prove they deserve to be named one." he glanced over at his friend. There has only been one exception...

"The Sentinels don't seem to be obviously distinguished from the rest of the guard, though." Barristan said, scanning over the faces.

"The Sentinels aren't flamboyant – no discourtesy intended, ser..." Barristan chuckled and rose his hand, accepting it as a reference.

"Our credence into the order of Sentinels resembles a knight's accolade, where we vow our service and loyalty to the lord of the burning mountain, and we're identified by a commissioned pin, shaped to the likeness of a flame." he further explained, and Barristan nodded.

"How long have you been a sentinel, lord Berin?" he brought the horn of ale to his mouth.

"Near to two years. I was named the head of the Sentinels by lord Raeghun's father, lord Rychard two months before his departure from this world." he replied.

"And who determines who is fit to be accepted into your order?" Barristan further asked.

"As is custom, I am allowed to propose suitable members, provide my reasons for doing so, and pledge for them should I find my judgement fit. But the decision remains that of the lord, and he determines to whom they are assigned. Our newest member is the lady's sentinel, named Falgon." he said, motioning to a tall shadow moving through the hall; and Barristan pointed at him in thought.

"I remember him, from the Wanderer's Tourney. He was a mercenary not too long ago, one called Nomad." he recalled, and Berin chuckled.

"He was, but many won't believe that. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself. He's a good man, and he proved himself. He's become one of my closest friends." Berin said smiling, and then the knight looked back at him.

"And you name this hold your home, as well?" Berin looked back at him.

"Yes, and even given a choice I would not want to be anywhere else. The barracks alone has the capacity to sleep three hundred men, and the highest level is reserved for the Sentinels. My best memories were made within these walls." Barristan smiled, and looked down at the horn in his hand.

"This is fascinating. Few people find this kind of enjoyment in their duty, and the way you speak is as if these people were your own." he said, and Berin emptied his horn.

"They are. They're family. I can't imagine anything different." then he looked up, seeing Raeghun follow a guard out of the hall.

The summer breeze met him suddenly, and the smell of rain in the air was eerily present despite a clear starlit sky. At the base of the stairway stood a small wheelhouse, two small children were attended by a short plump nurse, but with a warm and motherly face while a guard in plate mail helped a lady cloaked and hooded in black from the cabin, the sheen of a purple dress only just visible around her ankles. This was an unusual time for a new arrival, but he headed down the steps to greet her. Claira assured that she would join him in a moment to welcome their new guest. He stopped in front of her, and bowed his head respectively.

"Welcome, my lady. I hope you and your children will enjoy your stay." he greeted, and she turned towards him

"Thank you, my lord. I'm sure we will. But it seems we've arrived a little late." she smiled, and then removed the hood. He was met with the same sky blue eyes as his, dark hair, lean face and defined features that he possessed, in a different form and a year younger.

"Babieca?" his mind struggled to accept what his eyes took in; he hadn't seen her in five years, but she moved forward and put her arms around him while his went around her waist.

"It's been a long time, brother." she said, hugging him closer and then he smiled and laughed.

"I didn't think you'd come." he said, and then she drew back from him.

"My dear Raeghun, how could I miss your twenty first year?" she questioned him, and then turned back and waved the nurse over with the children so he could meet them. Gorgeous little girls of three and two with black hair and blue eyes, looking so much like their mother.

"These are my daughters, Maddy and Leda. And of course, their nurse Shadri." the introduced, and the woman bowed cumbersomely, but he nodded kindly before picking the children up in his arms and they laughed happily.

"Little ones, this is your uncle Raeghun." she said to them, but then he looked at her.

"They won't remember me." he cautioned, but she laughed.

"I'll tell them every story about you, I promise." he shared the humour, and then he looked back at the empty wheelhouse as castle hands unloaded several crates from its back before it was rolled off to be stored.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, and she sighed.

"Still in Pentos, I'm afraid his current affairs have kept him so busy he couldn't get away." she mentioned, and then the nurse raised her arms.

"May I, m'lord?" she asked, and he released the children before turning his attention back to his sister.

"So, you came alone?" he asked, but she shrugged.

"Oh, we're not alone. We have very sufficient guards." she defended, and he looked away shaking his head.

"You know what father would have said." he reminded, and a moment of silence followed before she released a long breath.

"I know. But father's not here." she said softly, and then came soft footsteps from behind him.

"My love?" Raeghun looked back and then raised his hand to place it around her waist before turning back.

"Claira, my sweet. I'd like you to meet my sister, lady Babieca Stowren." he announced, and then brought his wife's hand to his mouth before releasing it.

"I present my wife, lady Claira Taugere of Mount Ardor." Claira smiled.

"Such a pleasure, lady Babieca, and welcome. I've heard so much about you." she greeted, and Babieca took her hands, frosted in hers and it sent silent shivers up her arms.

"The pleasure is all mine, lady Claira. My brother has been blessed by every god, to marry to the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms." she complimented, and then looked up at the doors of the castle anticipatively.

"Where are your children? I'd love to meet them, too." she asked, and Claira's eyes went to her husband. He glanced at her empathetically before looking back, his hand in secret tightening around her in an attempt to comfort her.

"We don't have any, yet." he said softly, almost feeling his wife's eyes bore into the stone beneath them. Babieca's hand went to her chest.

"Raeghun… I'm so sorry." she apologised, and then Claira slipped from his grip.

"Please pardon me, my lady." she excused herself and vanished back into the hold, her steps heavy and intent. Raeghun sighed as he watched her disappear from their view, and his sister took a tentative step towards him.

"Raeghun. I'm sorry, I didn't know." she said again, and he looked back forcing a smile.

"It's al right. It will happen. But I fear it's a tender topic for my poor wife." he eased, and then held his arm for her.

"Come, the others are waiting. We will have your effects brought to the lord's wing." he said.

"That sounds wonderful." she returned smiling as they made their way up the stairs.

Claira walked through the hall, her limbs feeling heavy and swollen in the glow of the flames; even the air felt thick and brittle in her chest. She stopped and looked up from the floor, her eyes going from one face to the next, men and women, aged and young, and here she was in the middle of them all feeling like a husk amidst the ferns, empty and colourless between the brightly sprouting. She took a deep breath, trying to alleviate the tightness of her lungs, but the sense of drowning here where she was uncovered did not lessen. Milla stood from the table and came to her, twenty seven steps down the hall to where she stood... Why did I count that? Am I mad?

"Are you al right? You look... lost." Milla asked softly from in front of her, and Claira registered her green eyes.

"I'm fine. I just need some fresh air, so I'll be in the garden for a little while." she decided, and her friend nodded.

"Shall I accompany you, my lady?" Claira's hand went up to her arm.

"No, stay with our guests. I won't be long." she assured, and then started forward again. As she passed through the arches to the outside, she could hear the king reminisce on their greatest battle, the drunken vigour in his voice when he struck down the prince; but then it muffled and died as she stepped into the dark of night, shadows cast here-and-there from torches lit along the garden path and she walked on, allowing her thoughts to wander and her mind to dwell. The air was clearer, light and cool against her skin as she headed further down the path, deeper into the confines of their garden where vibrant petals glimmered in their richness, and gave out their treacly fragrances. She again found the bench near the fountain where Berin spoke with her this morning and she sat down, remembering his words. 'A flame burns inside of every man. Some things stifle it, and other things fuel it... and that fire burns more brightly in the Taugere lords than any other.' She scoffed at those words, almost laughed at them. If his fire burns the brightest, should it not be enough to break the ice within me? Her hand went to her stomach, and then she cursed herself. Stop it! You're being stupid. This isn't his fault. And she searched, bringing up every memory she had of a kindness, just to chase the thoughts away and hoping that was where they would remain. After finding her composure, she stood and moved away from the bench, deciding to circle the garden and then return to the hall. There were less torches down this path, and she followed the little garden route with her eyes. Rounding a large bush she stopped suddenly as a massive shadow in the centre of a small clearing between the rose bushes blocked her way. Her heart stabbed at her throat for an instant and then she breathed out, recognising her sentinel who was facing the west and looking up at the moon. The slightest shape of a crescent moon against the clear sky, but the usual bright white changed now to a fiery yellow. She stepped forward slowly, not knowing if she might startle him.

"Falgon?" he didn't flinch, but he did look down at her calmly.

"How will I serve, your grace?" he asked, and she smiled at him.

"Won't you come join us?" she offered, and he nodded before returning his gaze to the splinter of a moon above them.

"Yes, your grace. In a moment." he accepted, but he seemed different than usual.

"Is something wrong?" Claira asked, coming slightly closer to him.

"No, your grace. Nothing is wrong." he assured, and her eyes followed his to where the golden sickle hung high above them.

"Then what is it?" she heard him breathe out slowly, and then his eyes came back to her. As always they were kind and soft, but this time there was something more behind them. Something that reached at her heart.

"I remember, that on nights like these, my people used to have a celebration. Arun've mi Lua, it translates into The Lord's Giving Moon. You could ask the ruler for anything that you desired, and he would grant it." It wasn't his voice, or his eyes, or his gentle smile, but something far in the distance that breathed sadness; and in that instance, she felt like crying again. She so wished she could put her arms around him, and hold him, and tell him... Tell him what? Tell him how silly she was being over something she didn't understand? So instead, her hand went to the border on the neckline of her dress, and she rolled the seam between her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Falgon..." she muttered, and then he turned towards her.

"It's al right. There is no one who will remember it. But this may be your lord husband's moon now, the moon of his twenty first year. This may be how it is remembered." he was smiling as he spared the glinting moon a final glance, but she couldn't drown the sorrow.

"Shall we return to the hold, your grace? Your guests may be wondering where you are." he asked as he stepped aside and raised his hand to allow her to pass, so she breathed in and looked up.

"Yes, I may have been gone a bit long." she passed him and he followed down the pathway back to the glow of the feast; but upon entering she was met with a disturbing sight. Milla, Mae and Babieca stood off to one side where Babieca held an agitated Mae in her arms, and the lords, her father, Gerald, Eddard, Luitpold, Tyrion, Berin and her husband were all clamoured around the king, seeming equally provoked while they tried to calm him. As suddenly as she felt mournful, she was frustrated; and then turned back to Falgon.

"Thank you, but I best see what the difficulty is." she hinted, and then moved away from him towards the group in the corner next to the fervent hearth, and as she came closer she could make out their voices.

"She has silver hair!" Robert sneered.

"She's my sister, Robert. You know that." Raeghun defended, and the king's hand went to his chest.

"I swore to wipe out that damn Targaryen bloodline." he said, but Raeghun's fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"She is no more Targaryen than you or I. So will you end it with yourself then?" he asked, seeing the king's eyes burn.

"I won't rest until every one of them is resting under the ground." Robert vowed again, and then his eyes went to Claira behind Raeghun.

"Lady Mae is a Taugere, your grace. Her hair has nothing to do with it, if a foal is born white with black spots, would it be named a calf?" she said, and Robert's hand came away from Raeghun, pointing at her.

"Hold your tongue, woman. You have no right to speak." he directed, and it flamed in her.

"I have every right, here. This is my hold, my hall, my people. You may have the kingdoms, your grace; but the ties to these people and their lives remain ours." she said without a thought, and Robert tried to move forward.

"You arrogant wench, you dare speak to me like that?" suddenly Raeghun's arm forced him back.

"You're pushing it, Robert. First you insult my sister, and now you aim to insult my wife? You may be a guest here, but this is still my home. Are you willing to start hostility in your drunkenness?" Robert's eyes went to him, still fuming.

"Are you willing to challenge a king?" he asked softly.

"I would challenge a god if I must. But this ends now." Raeghun determined, focused and solid he was unafraid, even of the king. And as if a veil were lifted from him his eyes cleared, and softened; and his hands went to Raeghun's arms.

"And there is the reason I admire your family so much." then he laughed, as if nothing ever happened, and those around him seemed relieved.

"I know she's your sister. I know... I just can't get it out of my mind. It never leaves me." he said looking down, and Raeghun breathed a relieved sigh.

"It's over. You won." Claira took a deep breath, thankful that the situation did not escalate further and that most of the hold remained unaware of the incident, and then Robert passed Raeghun and made his way to Claira.

"I'm sorry, Claira. And I do believe it is time for bed; I may have indulged excessively on my first night." he said, and then took a horn off the table next to her and emptied the contents.

"Good night, lady Taugere." he greeted, raising the horn and replacing it on the table.

"Sleep well, your grace." she returned with a nod, and he sauntered off to find his apartment. Passing through the door, his arm wrapped around a serving girl as he persuaded her to show him the way.

"I believe that our night has been long enough as well." Her head snapped back, and Raeghun stood in front of her, his eyes hard and striking in their blue, and she looked down.

"As you wish, my love." she agreed in a voice just above a whisper. After giving the order that the hall be cleared, inhabitants and guests left to find their chambers and they made their way up to the lord's wing where Babieca and Mae retreated to after the outburst. He remained with them for a moment to ensure that they were al right and their needs were met as Claira ventured up to their bed chamber to retrieve a gown. She planned on visiting the bath chamber, but remained standing at the foot of the bed and expecting her husband to scold her again. She jerked as she heard the door close behind her, and his heavy footfalls come to her.

"That was a very foolish thing you did." his voice came at her, but it was softer than what she expected despite the sting in her eyes.

"I know. I'm sorry..." she closed her eyes, wringing the gown in her hands; but the expected onslaught stayed.

"Foolish..." his hands found her shoulders gently and he turned her around.

"But you, are more a Taugere than any other lady of our hold in the last two hundred and fifty years." she opened her eyes, and saw him smiling at her before she broke apart and cried again. His arms enveloped her and he held her against him, trying to smother a laugh.

"I have been favoured. The Taugere women often contrast the men. They are attributed to be meek, gentle and silent. And now I had to get the exception." he did laugh then, and she looked up at him through the tears.

"You're not angry?" his hand went to her face.

"No. Surprised, but not angry." she buried her face against his shoulder.

"I made it worse, didn't I?" he held her, and sighed.

"It could have gone either way, fortunately it's done with." then he leaned down and kissed her, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.

"Go, take your bath. I'll wait for you." he said softly, and then kissed her again.

Claira woke early again, wrapped under her husband's strong right arm where he lay against her. Nausea pulled at her bowels, and she cursed the final glass of wine she had drank, despite only recalling the goblet being refilled twice. She carefully lifted his arm from her and laid it on his side, trying not to stir him from sleep, then stood hoping that maester Adlyn would be awake. After taking her robe from the foot of the bed she went to a small table holding a pitcher of clear water and took a glass from the surface filling it to the brim; then brought it to her mouth and swallowed eagerly. The coolness of the water calmed her throat, but the heaviness in her stomach lingered. Slowly, she passed through the door closing it behind her, and made her way down the steps and through the lord's hall and out of the wing. She scanned the corridors, but they were silent and vacant, so she took the opportunity to slip to the maester's tower and silently – like a little cat swept up to his chamber. She found him there in his study among his many shelves and books and bottles where he met all their people, pouring fresh tea from a pot he kept in his tower; evidently having came down from his bed around the same time she did. Despite having freedom of the hold, he seldom left the sanctuary that was his tower.

"Good morning, my lady. Would you care for some tea?" he asked politely, and she smiled alleviated. She loved this man, and often had a tendency to compare him to a caring grandfather. A grandfather like the ones she never had the blessing to meet, but how she wished to from the stories she was told of them.

"Good morning, maester. I apologise for intruding on you so soon." she said coming forward as he brought another cup from a cabinet under his desk.

"Not at all, my lady. How may I serve you, aside from the tea?" he asked, laughing as he gestured for her to sit down.

"I'm afraid I've come with some unease to my stomach, maester. I woke quite suddenly to nausea; perhaps due to a glass too much wine." she confessed as he brought the tea for her.

"I see. Is this the first time you've experienced this?" he asked as he handed the cup to her and turned to fetch his own.

"I believe so." she confirmed, and then he came back and sat down next to her.

"Might this be related with your queer feeling from yesterday?" he asked, stirring the contents of the cup in his hand, and she thought a moment.

"I'm not sure. I hope not." she said, then he swallowed of the tea before placing the cup on a table next to them and turning to her.

"Are you experiencing any other symptoms, my lady?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Perhaps some unsteady emotions, but nothing more." she told, and he nodded.

"Very well. I will give some drops for the unease, but if my lady would not object, may I suggest a quick examination?" she agreed, placing the cup aside and watched him take a string attached to a crystal shaped like an arrow head from his wide pocketed sleeve. Maester Adlyn examined her, but again could not determine anything out of place; no swelling, no fever, no discolouration and as the day before, he concluded that she was essentially in good health. But did insist she return should there be any change. She finished her tea with him and thanked him before leaving.

"I'm sorry for bothering you this much, maester." she said at the door, but he smiled broadly through a full beard of silvery grey.

"Lady Claira, you can come see me five times a day, I won't mind it." he assured, and she issued him a final thankful smile before returning to the lord's wing to find Mae and Babieca already in the lord's hall in front of the hearth, and the children playing on the rug in front of them. She greeted them and then Babieca stood as their eyes met, and came over to her.

"Claira. I am sorry for last night, if I have offended you." she said taking her hands,

"You didn't offend me. I was just being silly." she said, and then Babieca led her to join them at the fireplace, introducing her to her children. They spent the early morning together there, until Raeghun completed his morning routine and departed the lord's wing after being thoroughly congratulated by his wife and sisters on this, his name day and twenty first year, then the handmaidens entered to help the ladies and clean the lord's wing and Shadri took charge of the children. Claira asked that Milla attend her when she could, wanting her opinion and keen eye in choosing a suitable dress for the day and allowing enough time to pass for the lord's sparring to proceed uninterruptedly, they chose a beautiful wide gown of bright red velvet, the neckline bordered with fine black lace and adorned with strings of pearl, ruby and silver. The close-fitting sleeves fringed with the same delicate black lace, and around the waist, an elaborate girdle of the same precious effects which would be displayed on her chest. Milla managed to find a matching adornment for the lady's throat, with red slightly heeled slippers. Claira couldn't stand heels, feeling odd and clumsy on aching feet. But slight heels she could manage, unlike Milla who remained graceful and ghost-like no matter how high she rose from the floor. For additional cover from whatever unexpected cold might blow over them, she chose a red over garment, the wide sleeves and collar lined with soft fur. Her hair was left naturally hanging down to her back, only held in place by two thick swirls of hair joined at the base of her neck with a jewelled pin, and several strands were left loose to frame her face.

"Thank you, Milla." Claira said as she stood, seeing that everything was in place.

"It is my great pleasure. I enjoy choosing your apparel for you." she giggled, and then turned.

"Well, it should be time for Jeody to serve soon. Shall we join the others in the hall?" she asked, and they departed the wing to meet their people, finding Gavin awaiting them in in the corridor.

"Good morning, my ladies. What visions you are, on this bright day. Is this a new dress, lady Claira?" he complimented,

"Thank you, Gavin. And no, it's not new. I just haven't worn it, yet." and then his eyes glinted as a thought sparked in his mind.

"If it would not be too troublesome, I'd love hiding you from our lord until this evening's feast. What I wouldn't give to see his face, when you appear before him looking like this." he suggested foxily, and Milla glanced at her smiling.

"I imagine that would be a magnificent sight." she started to agree with him.

"Surely that would be impossible. There's no way I can remain hidden that long." Claira protested, but Gavin chuckled.

"We have our ways, my lady. This hold is immense, and I'm sure there are some things for the lords to attend to." he indicated.

"Of course, our ladies may be invited to share our morning meal in your common room? It is fully equipped." Milla suggested, and Claira glanced between them.

"And after that? I can't stay in the common room." she tried again, and Gavin laughed.

"You are welcome to the garden, my lady." he assured, and she sighed.

"Oh, very well then. Do as you wish." she decided, suddenly feeling annoyed and just wanting to get it over with. Milla's attention went to Gavin after a moment's puzzled look at Claira.

"Would you be so kind as to escort our lady to her common room, while I request our guests to join us, and have the preparations made?" she asked, and he nodded. Milla vanished down the hallway as Gavin proceeded to accompany Claira to her common room in the sun tower.

"Are you al right, my lady?" he asked as they approached the door.

"Everyone keeps asking me that, of late. I'm fine, Gavin. Why?" she assured, and heard him breathe in.

"Your well-being is one of our responsibilities, my lady. It must never be neglected." he mentioned, and she turned back to him as she stepped through the door, and cursing herself for her displeasing emotions.

"Your concern is touching, but there's really nothing wrong. Thank you." she smiled.

The day progressed happily as the lords assembled in the southern hall to break their fast, and the ladies retreated to the common room in the sun tower to share their day. Raeghun sat with them all, listening and conversing their thoughts. Each person he met congratulated him on this day, and they presented gifts in his honour, from pelts to rich wines to coin. King Robert even found it in himself to apologise to his sister for the previous evening's misunderstanding. After the hall was cleared and a moment given to ensure that the hold was at peace they spent some time in the fields on horseback. Upon their return, they were awaited by an energetic jester whom did not resemble a jester at all being dressed in a white tunic under a leather belted jerkin, plain breeches and worn boots, lean and sinewy with black hair and grey eyes; and a scrawny red-haired bard going by the name Sure-Hand. The lord of Mount Ardor welcomed them, and they fervently expressed their excitement and preparations were started to resume the feast by nightfall. The remainder of the day was spent within the hold, the children frolicking in the garden, and just a few moments past, young Rod asked Carissa to join him for a walk, giving cause for their fathers to entertain the notion of a union of their houses. It was just past noon that Berin decided to take a moment to ensure that the guard rounds were clearly set out for the evening and made his way to the guard's hall in the barracks where he inspected the list of guards, when their watch was set and whom would relieve them at which time. As a norm, all the guards would not be relieved at the exact same time, in order to keep eyes on the castle grounds at all times. Satisfied that all was in order, he headed back to rejoin the lords, and then heard a voice to his side. Soft and delicate, like chimes in the wind.

"Hello, Berin." then he turned, and looked into blue eyes.

"Hello, Babieca." he returned, and she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, we haven't had a proper opportunity to speak, yet." she mentioned, and he laughed.

"That's al right. The hold has been busy, and I understand you arrived rather late yesterday." he said, and she nodded.

"Thank you, for last night." she said, her eyes going to the open door to the southern hall.

"It was a pleasure; we've always been protective of our ladies." he said, and her eyes came back to him.

"That you have. Will you walk with me?" she asked as she motioned to the doorway, and he nodded.

"Of course, my lady." they turned and started heading for the feast hall as they continued their conversation.

"So, tell me. How is life in Pentos?" he asked, and she laughed.

"It's warm. Much warmer than here. But it is as good as I could have hoped for; we are safe and content. The people are kind and courteous, and we have the finest household hands. My only wish is that it didn't need to be as far from my family." she said, and Berin nodded.

"You could always come back, Babieca." he mentioned, and heard her sigh.

"I've tried to convince him, but at this point I don't believe that he will ever leave that place. He has conformed to that life, and found a way to root himself there." then she turned to him.

"But I do enjoy the eastern lands, they're interesting to say the least." she concluded.

"And how have you fared here, head of the Sentinels? That is quite an achievement, I dare say." she asked him, and he looked away from her.

"Good, not much has changed. Despite the additional duties, I am quite content and wouldn't have it any different even if I could." then he saw Milla coming from the garden and waved her over to join him. She smiled as she reached them, and Berin took her hand bringing it to his lips, and then turned back to Babieca.

"This beautiful lady is our court maiden, and also became my wife near to a fortnight ago." he introduced, and Babieca looked between them.

"We met last night, but I wasn't aware that she was your wife. Congratulations." she said, and Milla nodded.

"Thank you so much, my lady." then Babieca's attention went to the doorway to the garden.

"Well, thank you for the escort, lord Berin. We look forward to this evening's feast." she thanked him, and then left for the outside air and they watched as she disappeared from the hall.

"What was that about?" Milla asked and then Berin's eyes met her as he laughed.

"Oh, nothing in particular." he assured, and then walked further with her at his side.

"Where is our lady, by the way? No one has seen her yet." he asked, and she giggled.

"Lord Raeghun is not supposed to see her until this evening's feast. So, please keep our secret?" she asked and he nodded, suddenly excited to see what would unfold. And as night veiled the countryside, the feast started in all its splendour while the hearths glowed richly and music echoed off the walls. The ladies joined them then, filing into the southern hall to take their places. Raeghun scanned the faces, searching for his wife whom strangely had been absent for the day, and then three sentinels entered, Falgon at their front and flanked by Gavin and another. He approached them, and they stopped.

"Good evening, sire. Blessed name day to you." Falgon greeted politely, bowing his head and Gavin could barely contain his excitement.

"Good evening, sers. Where is my wife?" he asked, for a peculiar reason dreading the answer, but Falgon smiled.

"Apologies for the delay, sire. But now that night has fallen, it is our pleasure to present your wife, the lady of Mount Ardor, to you." he said, and stepped aside to reveal her. Raeghun felt his heart stop, and the skin burn off his face and hands; only once before in his life had he felt this dream-struck, in the moment her father removed the veil from her on their wedding night. He could hear voices around him, but none of the words met him; and then she smiled at him and he stepped forward, his hands going to her face to ensure that the vision before him was real; that it was indeed his wife that stood before him smiling and not some whimsical goddess fallen from the skies. His fingers touched her cheeks, cold and true; and then his lips touched hers, sweet and soothing in the moment that the rest of the world disappeared and there was no one left but them. If I were blessed any more, I'll be dead... He drew back from her, and their eyes met. Clear and shimmering in their ice blue, like he was looking at a frozen mirror. Has anyone ever loved this much? Then his brow touched hers, and he breathed in her sweet scent filling his lungs.

"Claira... Will you marry me?" he suddenly asked, and her arms went around his neck.

"I would, if we weren't already." she said softly against him, and he grinned, suddenly realizing his mistake, but wishing he could have asked her that same question himself long ago.

"Of course. What I meant to say was, will you dance with me?" he corrected, and she laughed softly.

"Yes." he took hold of her hand, and her waist and started to move with her in his arms to the beautiful melody that sounded behind them, holding her tightly against him while the others watched; and then they were met with happy applause as the song died out. He leaned forward and kissed her once more before leading her to the high table to take their places among family and guests and they feasted together again while the newest faces entertained the hall. Vernon the jester amazed the people with his talents, not just a jester but a magician as well; and not for a moment did he lose a single members attention. He told tales of far-off places, made items disappear and reappear, and Claira found herself especially immersed in his comical portrayals of both high and low born, his representation of lord Walder Frey admittedly being her favourite and she laughed so much that her stomach hurt. Finally, the jester thanked the people of the hall before bowing, and stepping away leaving them to calm their nerves before Sure-Hand would assume his part. They calmed themselves on a glass of wine, attempting to recreate the jester's whims, mostly failing utterly. Deciding she needed some fresh air, and while at that would see where the bard was being distracted, Claira stood and made her way to the outer bailey, leaving her over garment hung on her chair. Seeing that the space was vacant, she allowed a few moments just for the clear air to envelop her and claimed several deep breaths under the stars. And then she headed back to the Hall of Fire of Mount Ardor, but something caught her attention. There was music unlike anything she'd ever heard before coming from the inner bailey, and she paused to listen. A distinguished voice the loudest among others adding theirs to the rhythm, and she felt herself drawn towards it. She headed through the barracks, and stood in the shadows of the door opening to the torch lit area, watching a group of guards and sentinels and the bard with a fiddle, horns in their hands and arms around shoulders of those next to them. The great sword Summit leaned against the wall and Falgon sat on one of the hay bales, in a comfortable position laid back against the wall with one foot on the bale next to him; and in his hands was a lute that he was playing. It was a sure tune; thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum... and he was singing while others followed and added their own voices. In all of her years, with all of the bards and singers and performers and players that had ever come to court, no song had ever captured her as much as this. No, not just a song... a story. A story of a man on a journey, a pilgrimage where he had cast off every bad decision he had ever made. He added additional distinguished notes effortlessly, while still keeping the rhythm steady and flowing.

"Memories of once calm glades..." she just stood there listening, watching him play and the others smiling and singing around him, and if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes would never in her life had believed that her tall powerful sentinel could play a musical instrument with more grace than she could learn in a hundred years.

"I take the first steps into the last of a golden glow..." she found herself swept away in it, and for a moment wished this would never end.

"The winds cold and unforgiving, lonely and forgotten..." Her hand went to her chest, as the bard added the sweetness of the fiddle to the rhythm.

"And let the doubt wash away from me..." the emotion that was put into this was nothing short of breathtaking. The man on this journey was coming home, and then it was just the strings of the lute and her sentinel's voice, pure and clear.

"On and on my path leads, I look over my shoulder to glimpse a grey landscape; where once I was lost, a place now a misunderstood shape..." then lute and fiddle and voices sounded loud in the space.

"Show me how to stay strong..." You are strong, Falgon... her hand went to her mouth and she had to battle tears stinging her eyes, but she stood listening.

"I'm coming back home!" they all sounded together, some overlapping others until all that was left was the weaves and curves of the fiddle. She breathed in, trying to bring order about herself as it faded away and she finally had enough control to step out.

"Again!" one of the sentinels pleaded, and Falgon laughed.

"This was the fourth time, I can't sit here all night." he said.

"Yes, I'm afraid there are other things to attend to. And Sure-Hand's performance is required for our lords." Claira mentioned and they all turned. Falgon stood and handed the lute back to the bard. With doleful mumbles they left the bailey and Claira approached Falgon who bowed to her.

"My apologies for keeping your entertainment, your grace." he said, and she stood in front of him.

"That was beautiful, Falgon." she complimented, and he shrugged.

"It was nothing special, I just made it up." and her hand went to her face as a stray tear escaped.

"Still, I believed every word you said..." she wiped the tear away.

"It is true, in a sense." he mentioned, and she looked up at him.

"Who are you, truly?" she suddenly asked, and he seemed puzzled for a moment before smiling.

"You know who I am, your grace." he said, and she couldn't make sense of him.

"I am your Falgon of the Fire Hall. And I will be whatever you need me to be. Sword and shield." her hands went to her face as suddenly a flood of tears assaulted her, and she was left exposed. But he stepped closer and gently wrapped his arms around her.

"Please, please don't cry. Please? Your husband will have me hanged." he pleaded as he tried to comfort her.

"I'm sorry that I upset you." she breathed as his hands rubbed her back.

"I'm not upset." he countered, and pulled back from her.

"I don't know what's wrong with me..." she wiped the tears from her face.

"You're tired. It's been a long day." he suggested, but she shook her head.

"No, I've been feeling this way all day." wiping away yet another tear. He looked at her sympathetically as his hands stroked the length of her back, not knowing what else to do. She leaned against him, forcing several deep breaths into herself to regain control of her emotions that had been the reason for so much confusion the past few days and then she looked up at him.

"Thank you. Will you play your song for me again?" he smiled softly.

"I will. But perhaps, not tonight." he promised, and she managed a slight laugh.

"Yes. Not tonight." she agreed, and they headed back into the castle to rejoin the others.

Milla sat next to Berin at the high table, speaking with Tyrion who was sitting opposite from her. They shared many things from his life and family at Casterly Rock to hers here at Mount Ardor, and she found him to be an eloquent man despite his abject bynames. She looked up to see the bard enter the hall with a lute in his hands. He approached the high table and bowed before receiving the lord's approval and moving away to start his music, and moments later Claira entered followed by her sentinel. She took her place next to Raeghun and Falgon moved off again to take a place next to Gavin at one of the tables. The night continued merrily as people sang and danced and feasted; late into the night Milla and Berin accompanied Rod and Carissa to their chambers respectively before meeting again in the Hall of Fire, and just shared a moment before the great hearth. He placed his arms around her.

"This has been a happy time. I wish we could have more days like these." he said, holding her in his arms, and she leaned forward to kiss him. It was a happy time, bright days and laughing people; and secretly she hoped that the change in Claira meant that a wish had been granted. But then, in the calling of a single name it seems that happiness had been broken.

"BERIN!" they looked down to see a man entering the hold, white haired and black eyed, and beyond the normal state of drunk, lord Geerd Vega had returned.

"There you are! I've been looking for you!" he called out as he sauntered forward.

"Oh fuck, why tonight?" Berin breathed, and then released Milla to head down the steps; and she followed. They met in the centre of the hall where Geerd stopped, attempting to keep his balance. He reeked of old ale.

"What the fuck do you want? I had hoped you went back to Bristlemane." Berin asked as he stopped, and Geerd pointed a finger at him.

"I want to tell you, exactly what I think of you and this shit hole." he said, and then his eyes went to Milla and he smiled opening his arms.

"My son's little whore, how about a kiss for your father?" he tried to move forward, but Berin's hands went to Geerd's chest.

"Shut up. If you touch her, I will kill you." Berin threatened, and Geerd burst out laughing.

"Now now, spilling blood in the hog shit lord's hall is against ethics." he said, staggering;

"I want you gone, now. Leave this hold!" Geerd breathed in deeply, and then laughed again.

"Like I told you before, you can't make me go." and Milla finally understood why her husband hated him; and this was only a glimpse of it. Luitpold came from the feast hall to discover this unnerving sight, and then came over.

"Is everything al right?" he asked, and then Geerd turned rather ungracefully, releasing Berin's hold on him.

"Yes, Dadda. Please go back to the feast, we will rejoin you in a moment." she said quickly, attempting to avoid another confrontation like on the previous night.

"Who in the hells are you?" Geerd suddenly demanded, stepping forward, and Milla could see her father's face harden.

"Who I am is none of your damn concern. And seeing that you did not come here with any good intention, I too will advise you to leave." he said, and Geerd laughed again.

"I'm not going anywhere." he said spitefully and then turned back to Berin.

"I've hated you. The happiest moment of my life was watching you turn your back on your father's hold, and never come back, but every time your mother brought you up it maddened me. She named you heir of Bristlemane, and that sickened me more. You're nothing! You're some boy lord's back end, and that's about it. You will never amount to anything!" suddenly Luitpold's hand found Geerd's shoulder and he turned him.

"Leave my son be!" Geerd laughed again.

"Your son? He has no family. He's alone, he's nothing." Luitpold's eyes fumed.

"He is my daughter's husband; he is my son." he determined, his hands harshly taking hold of Geerd's tunic.

"Such madness. Have you too, fallen under the spell of that north hag?" Berin turned to his wife.

"Find the lord. This has gone far enough." he instructed, and she left his side hurrying into the southern hall. She reached the table, and as casually as she could took a seat next to him before leaning over to him, and informing him of the intrusion. He nodded and stood, making his way down the hall. Passing Falgon, he placed a hand on his shoulder and he too, stood and followed. Milla's hand went to her mouth, hoping that the situation will not escalate. Claira exchanged her seat for the one next to Milla, and she leaned over.

"Milla, what's happening?" she asked softly, and Milla looked at her, feeling the unease burn in her stomach.

"Lord Vega has returned, I just hope it ends soon." she said.

Raeghun entered the Hall of Fire, his senses aflame. Both Luitpold and Berin stood with Geerd, trapped in drunken blazing argument, surrounded by the bitter stench of ale. He extended a hand towards Falgon.

"Your sword, if you will?" he asked, and felt a woven leather grip released into his hand; and as his fingers closed it moulded to the shape of his hold.

"That is enough!" His voice silenced them all instantly, and he brought the blade forward; it passed by the shoulders of the lords, and the tip rested against Geerd's throat.

"You have agitated my people enough, and have overstayed my tolerance for you." Geerd smiled at him, his black eyes glinting with spite.

"I was asked to attend, by your witch." he said, and Raeghun pushed the sword forward, the tip biting into the skin of the drunken man.

"For you actions, I can have your head. But given your state, I may stay my hand. You will leave my hold, and return to your own tonight. Should I find you within sight of my home after midnight, my decision to allow your departure will change." he said, and brought the sword away from him, handing it back to the sentinel behind him.

"I will hear no further of you." he turned, and then looked at Falgon.

"Make sure he leaves." he instructed, and Falgon bowed his head.

"As you bid, sire." he agreed, and then moved forward, taking hold of Geerd by his shoulder. He handled him effortlessly, guiding him out of the hold and towards the gate, all the while Geerd was protesting.

"Take your hands off me! You ought to know your place. They've set their trust in you, but you're just a commoner in the hall of a lord." he struggled, but the sentinel's grip was sure as if he were carrying nothing more than a satchel.

"To my relief, I don't need your approval, lord Vega. Only that of those who name this hold their home." Finally, Falgon's hand released him and he sprawled on the stones of the bridge. After a moment, he stood and turned back.

"You arrogant simpleton! How dare you? You're nothing, you hear me? Nothing!" but the sentinel only smiled.

"We are all nothing. We come from nothing, and in time will return to nothing. But I don't need to be anything." he said, and Geerd stumbled forward.

"Mark me, I will have my revenge! I will watch as the lives of these people crumble before me!" he vowed.

"Your dreams of revenge will be met with utter disappointment, lord Vega. You may mark that. Now, are you planning to depart peacefully, or shall I deliver you to your horse myself?" Falgon asked and Geerd turned, stomping off enraged and defeated. Falgon watched as he disappeared into the darkness, and then looked up at the crescent moon high above. Arun've mi Lua, The Lord's Giving Moon, truly it was. For his people, the ruler would grant you a wish, and now his lord would grant you your life even though you might not deserve it. He breathed in deeply and then decided to pay a quick visit to the stable before returning inside. He wandered through the darkness, between the slips of light in the stable, and then took a brush off one of the crates and took the time to brush Galeo; reflecting on many things as he did so.

"Who are you?" he turned his head to see a little boy standing next to a post, watching him with soft black eyes; and he smiled.

"I am Falgon of the Fire Hall. Pleased to meet you." he said, and then turned laying the brush down and the boy came closer.

"I'm Jon." he said, and in that moment Falgon glanced down the stables, seeing no one else.

"What are you doing here?" he asked and the boy sat down on a hay bale next to the stall.

"I got away from my nurse." he said and folded his little hands in his lap, swaying his feet.

"Why aren't you with your family?" Falgon asked as he stepped closer, and the boy looked up at him.

"They're not my family. Not really." he said, and Falgon sighed.

"Family is family, Jon. Whether it be by blood, or bond." he said, and the boy looked away from him, seeming pitiable.

"Lord Stark is my father, but lady Stark is not my mother. She doesn't like me, and never lets me sit with them." he explained, and Falgon moved closer.

"Oh, I'm sorry child." he apologised, sitting down next to the boy.

"People only see the names. They say the common shouldn't be with the high-born. It's the thing they care about most." he said, the little words heavy and sad, but Falgon leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

"Lord Raeghun doesn't care about that. I didn't even have a name to give him; but he accepted me into his hall, gave me a place among his people." he mentioned, and then smiled as he looked at Jon.

"But your birth, should not determine who you are, little one." he said, trying to mend the little damaged spirit; and Jon looked up at him suddenly; a hopeful glimmer in his little black eyes.

"Are you a bastard, too?" he asked, and Falgon laughed.

"No. No, I'm not." he denied, and the boy seemed confused.

"Then how didn't you even have a name?" he asked, and Falgon sat back, he sighed as he looked up at the roofing of the stable, thinking.

"I lost it, long ago. But lady Claira gave me a new one." he said, and Jon turned more to face him.

"Do you think she could give me a new one, too?" he asked, again optimistic and Falgon had to chuckle.

"I don't know about that. I'm sure she'd like to, but you're still your father's son no matter the thoughts of others." he said, and then stood up.

"Have you eaten today, child?" he asked, and the little eyes went away from him.

"I nicked an apple off a serving girl earlier." Jon said, and Falgon smiled holding a hand towards him.

"Come, we'll find you something. And then it's off to bed, it's late." little six year old Jon stood, and took hold of the powerful hand, grateful for a friend.

Claira closed the door of the lord's chamber behind her after returning from the bath chamber, finding her husband already lying on the bed, his shirt and boots removed.

"Well, this has been quite a day." she commented, and heard him sigh.

"Fuck, I never want these last three days again." he replied, and she laughed.

"I'm afraid you may not have a great deal of choice. Name days tend to make their appearance once a year or so." she joked, and he shared the laugh.

"Oh, please take it and give it to someone else. I don't want it any more." he pleaded as she came over to the bed.

"My poor, poor husband. It's left you exhausted, hasn't it?" she soothed as she undid the lace of his breeches, and carefully pulled it from his legs.

"I'm so tired, I could sleep like a bear." he said softly, and she smiled feeling a warm tingling in her abdomen.

"Only sleep?" she asked as she softly pulled the ribbons from her shoulders and let her gown fall to the floor.

"Oh hell, I'd live like a bear if I could." then he gasped slightly at the touch of her cold fingers to his stomach, and a soft loving kiss to the base of his chest. His hands found hers and he pulled her forward, forcing her onto him, and then his arms went around her waist.

"Why did you ask me to marry you?" she asked, and he smiled.

"Because I never had the chance to." he said, and she laughed.

"Quite an unexpected time to be doing it, don't you think?" she asked, and his hand went to her face.

"It may have been as good a time as any." he said, and then wove his fingers into her hair.

"Would you have? Would you have agreed to be my wife if I asked you on my own, without our fathers arranging it?" he asked again, and she brought her face down to his.

"Yes." she agreed, and pressed her mouth gently to his.

*Hi, guys. As I don't add a lot of notes, you're welcome to check out my blog at where we do discussions on the piece, post a few pictures now-and-then, and try to answer questions. Thanks a lot.