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.

10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 – THE WHITE HOLD

The Tormonts and the Starks spent another several days at the burning mountain while one-by-one the other guests, the lord's sister from across the Narrow Sea, the Scharer family, and king Robert Baratheon's company made their way back home. On the day of their departure from Mount Ardor, Mae pleaded with her brother to attend her wedding, upon which he answered with no amount of certainty that they would try to if the gods graces would allow it. Since her husband's name day, on completely ergodic mornings, the same heaviness to her stomach plagued lady Claira before suddenly vanishing. The swirl of emotions came and went, some days would be better than others. Some days passed like any normal one, and others left her angered for simple reasons or crying for none at all. The children, young Robb Stark and Jon Snow became fascinated by the sentinels, and spent as much time with them as they could; and even participated in some light sparring; jabbing small practice swords at each other or watching in awe as the men further pushed their ability, while three year old Sansa Stark – quite a lady herself already was content with the company of the women of the hold. These were good days, calm and peaceful with few disputes and little disturbances, and the nights light and warm with family. Willmon issued an invitation for Raeghun and Claira to accompany them back to Pale Haven for his eldest son's wedding shortly after they would be expected to arrive, which he accepted. And the evening before their departure, around the high table in front of the blaze of the fervid hearth sat family and friend, Taugere, Tormont, Trentin and Stark, engaged in fine conversation while the rest of the castle lives shared the lower tables down the long hall. Lord Eddard Stark's grey eyes scanned the hall, registering the faces.

"Has anyone seen Jon?" he asked as he turned back, and Berin leaned slightly forward.

"He is with ser Falgon, my lord. They should be in the guard's hall." he advised, and then Catelyn's hand closed over her husband's.

"Ned, my love. Seeing as the boy has become so taken with Mount Ardor and its people, you might consider having him warded here." then she looked at Raeghun, smiling.

"That is, if you would not mind it, lord Raeghun? Taking a ward?" she directed, sounding rather optimistic. He chuckled as he placed his chalice down on the table.

"Of course not, I'll be happy to. Our halls have been rather bereft, and it may do us good." his blue eyes settled on Eddard.

"If his father consents." he added, and after a moment's pause Eddard forced a light smile as he turned to Catelyn.

"I will think on it." he said, and then returned his attention back to the elegant feast of stuffed swan with cream stewed country greens and fresh bread, alongside full goblets of sweet mead, and resumed the conversation. Night carried on as they shared stories, and lethargy settled over the hall. Finally cleared, they left the glow of the southern hall to find their beds, each retreating to the sanctuary that was warm and soft sheets and silken pillows. Claira stood at the foot of their wide bed with a soft gown in hand, debating through weariness to visit the bath chamber. She felt tired, miserably tired all of this day, then finally decided that the warmth of the water may be best after all before Raeghun placed his arms around her and pressed his lips gently to her neck. She let her head ease back onto his warm shoulder, and for a moment could imagine falling asleep right then and there against him.

"How have you been feeling today?" he whispered, his arms softly tightening around her waist.

"Better, just very tired. To my relief, my stomach has settled a bit." her hand went to his cheek, the smooth of his skin as she smiled. He had always taken great care to be well kempt. Claira turned and wound her arms around his neck, his still circling her waist.

"Have you seen our maester?" he asked as she leaned against him.

"Several times already, he can't find anything wrong." she felt him breathe in, and then the heat as the breath flowed over her and his left hand came up to her hair, and he tenderly pressed her against him.

"I'm sure it will pass off, then." he assured, then brought his fingers to her jaw and gently lifted her face to kiss her again, soft and lingering in the sweet touch before he drew back and smiled.

"Go have your bath, it's an early rise tomorrow." he urged, and she left after an accordant nod, passing through the door and down the winding steps to the lord's hall. Without Mae, Babieca and her children, the space felt empty and silent with only the shadows and occasional crackling and pop from the torches and fireplaces for company. She entered the bath chamber, closing the heavy curtain that guarded the entryway; then cast off her dress and waded into the steaming water until it splashed around her waist, allowing the flow from the fountain to spill across her shoulders and savouring the sensation as it gently massaged the muscles, bringing a calmness to her. I'll sit down for a while, just a short while... She rested herself on the tiles of the bath, letting the water surround her up to her throat, and eased further into the warmth it brought to her. She thought of many things, of her wonderful life here at the burning mountain where she became the lady of Mount Ardor. Her rich life here with lord Raeghun Taugere, a loving and devoted husband. Lord Berin and lady Milla Trentin, their close and caring friends and defenders. Kind and courageous Falgon, who was always just there with his gentle smile and calm nature. Benevolent and wise old maester Adlyn, the healer, who always wanted to help and always knew how to, even if it were only with words. Spirited and eccentric cook Jeody, always willing to please and surprise. Comical Gavin, whose aim was to make others smile. Quiet Edur, always in his place. All their Sentinels of Flame: Remir, Colbert, Saerus, Derric, Adelard and Hernaut; reserved and polite but aflare in an instant against a threat. Master-at-Arms Ser Austinus, watching over their sentries, and Philpot the smith, ensuring that they would never be left defenceless. Versed court master Metron, lending his withered hands in their home's fluency. The handmaidens, squires, serving girls, pages, scullions and castle hands, all delightful and eager to help. The horses, sturdy and swift; the hounds strong and loyal, all well cared for by their stable and kennel masters. Their people, hunters and tanners and carpenters and merchants and farmers and so many, many more. Always smiling on these lands that were ever green and abundant under the ageless beauty of the blue northern sky. The blue that she loved so much. Tranquillity enveloped her completely, warm and soothing and blissful and endless; and she wished she could stay here, floating in the serenity of elation. Even the rumbling of a coming storm seemed far off, and harmless. Strong hands suddenly clamped down on her arms and hauled her up through the blue, and she broke the surface of the water with a gasp to the call of her name, her eyes opened to see Raeghun next to her waist deep in the water, not having bothered to discard his now sopping breeches.

"Are you al right? What happened?" his hand went to her back as she coughed and gasped again, and her hand went to her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I fell asleep, I'm sorry." she whimpered, but his arms enclosed her and she could feel the tremble of shock through his muscles.

"You never linger this long. To the gods, Claira; if I hadn't come looking..." he trailed off, pressing his mouth to her soaked hair; and she cried again.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Raeghun." her arms went around him, and he seized several deep breaths.

"Please, don't ever do this to me again..." he whispered. They stood there in the water, arms around each other until the shuddering finally ceased, and returned to the lord's chamber for the night.

Everyone woke before the break of dawn, and assembled in the outer bailey while the last of the visitors' belongings were stowed onto the back of the wheelhouse and a small cart; and the stable boys finished grooming the horses for saddling while the nobles conversed on the planned journey back north. As the eminent sunrise brought the rich colours of light to the horizon and the early purple faded, sentinels Gavin, Edur, Saerus and Derric mounted their steeds while other guards assembled to the company. Berin issued Milla his farewell at the bottom of the stairway, his lips pressed lovingly to her brow.

"I will return to you." he whispered his customary promise, and she looked up at him smiling gently.

"You always do." he bowed his head before parting from her, and she watched him move away. Galeo stood calmly near the wheelhouse as Falgon took hold of the reins and the cantle of the saddle to mount, but then paused smiling as he decided to turn back and saw his small friend standing behind him with eyes sparkling.

"Can I ride with you?" Jon asked, and Falgon chuckled.

"You may, if your family has no objections." he agreed, and Jon looked back at his father next to the wheelhouse to help his wife inside.

"Father, can I ride with Falgon?" he asked, and Eddard seemed at a loss for a moment before Catelyn smiled broadly.

"That's fine, my love. Let the boy ride with the sentinels. Let him enjoy it." she urged before disappearing into the cabin, and discarding the notion to enter after his mother, Robb's hands grabbed his fathers.

"Father, can I ride with the men too, please?" he begged in anticipation as he watched the tall sentinel pick Jon up and seat him on the pommel of the saddle, protecting the bay stallion's back before the warrior mounted himself.

"Please?" he asked again, and Berin passed.

"Sure, you can ride with me." he smiled looking down at the child, and then his green eyes met the those of the lord of Winterfell.

"With your father's permission, of course." he added, and Eddard sighed with a grin.

"How can I allow one, and deny another? Very well." he agreed, and watched his eldest son move off happily with the sentinel, reflecting on his very head-strong sons.

"Is everything al right, lord Stark?" he turned back to the silvery blue eyes of Willmon Tormont as he helped his wife into the wheelhouse, and then he stepped aside to allow his daughter to enter as well with the help of her brother.

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine. I must say I am rather eager to get back home." Eddard confessed, longing for the grey cold, a fair contrast from the bright and burning Mount Ardor, once a beacon of hope to them; momentary the thought that only the northern winds that swept by were occasionally cold.

"Thank you, for coming with us. I know this must have brought back some memories for you." Willmon said, and Eddard nodded.

"That's all they are now. Memories. Mostly vague ones, I am thankful to say. But we did enjoy this visit, our last one here was rather fleeting." he glanced at the lord and lady of Mount Ardor descending down the steps to join them.

"But this place, does not hold memories for only me, lord Willmon. Back then, we had no idea what to expect, apart from the tales. And you having had to give so much for the good of our cause. I would have despised myself if some of the descriptions turned out to be true." he said, and Willmon looked up to see the object of his attention, smiling.

"Thank you, my lord. I am pleased to say that my daughter is happy here, and that lord Raeghun is good to her. Fate has strange ways of threading people together..." Willmon could feel Eddard staring at him, and then turned back at him calmly, with a gentle smile.

"Shall we find our mounts, lord Eddard?" he suggested, and Eddard nodded. Willmon turned to Claira as they came closer.

"Will you be joining our ladies in the wheelhouse?" he asked, and she shook her head smiling.

"Perhaps later, father. I'd like to take this morning for a ride." she declined, and he then proceeded to close the door. Raeghun walked with her to the horses, Brazier already saddled and waiting, his big brown eyes set on her eagerly.

"Are you sure about this?" Raeghun asked softly, and then she turned to him.

"Yes, I'll be fine. The fresh air may lessen the uneasiness to my stomach a bit." he nodded, and then helped her onto her rose-gold stallion before mounting his own night-black warhorse while others did the same; and as the shine of a new sun glinted over the horizon and lit the lands a column passed through the portcullis and over the bridge, Stark and Tormont guardsmen, the sentinels, lords Willmon, Gerald, Rhegard, Eddard, Raeghun, and Berin at his side, and in the centre lady Claira with Falgon at her shadow, followed by the great wheelhouse, the cart and the last of the guardsmen, a long train heading up north into the cold.

To their delight, the journey was fortunately uneventful. Between camps they stayed at The Ivory Pitcher, and a small hold. They spent their days on horseback, and the nights around fires with each other's company before exchanging that for the peace of the tents. By the third day of their travel, the uneasiness and unstable emotions that haunted Claira vanished, and did not come again. One evening, around the warmth of flames while the boys insisted on keeping watch with the sentinels, Jon spied a long shining flash in the sky that seemed to sparkle, and on the insistence of Falgon could make a wish as he was the first to see it.

"What did you wish for?" Asked an excited Robb, to a mysterious.

"I can't tell you that." from a giggling Jon. By morning of the sixth day since they passed under the heavy iron gate of Mount Ardor, Tormont and Taugere parted ways from Stark who made their way to their ancient home of Winterfell, and lord Eddard Stark assured that by the time the Taugere's returned that way he would give them his conclusion on the possibility of allowing a warding. They continued up the road deeper into the north, and Rhegard approached Claira with a cunning grin.

"My sweet sister, how fast is your steed?" he asked, and she turned back to him.

"Faster than yours, I'm sure, dear brother." she smiled back indicating his great brown horse, already predicting his intention.

"I can't imagine it. He's a beautiful creature, but I'm sure his leg would break in flight." he teased; and she laughed.

"My Brazier would get farther before breaking a leg, than your Incus would before sinking away in the soil." she returned, and he moved closer.

"You'd feel the rumble of the earth under our hooves long before you see the fire from your steps." he promised,

"Truly? What a feeling that would be." she teased back, and he laughed.

"Let us show you, then. If you're not afraid." he challenged, and she could feel the heat in her chest.

"It is ill manners to challenge a lady, Rhegard." she reminded him as he passed.

"Oh, it's not a challenge. It's a promise." he corrected, steering her off the road into a wide field. They walked on over green grass, and the tingling in her fingers increased as her grip tightened on the reins, then he looked back.

"Are you ready?" he grinned, and her hands took hold of Brazier's black mane.

"Ready to leave you trailing behind." their heels dug into the ribs of their horses, and they charged over the endless countryside. The horses ran unbound over the pasture, Rhegard still at her side, and as they circled an old oak to head back Rhegard looked at her next to him.

"So much for your blazing steed." he called, and she smiled.

"You've only seen the spark of his flame, dear brother. Let us show you his fire." her hands released the reins, the leather slipping through her fingers and they moved past him, her stallion's gait widening as he ran faster and faster. She revelled in it, the feeling of the wind unrestricted on her skin, the powerful muscles moving under her in each stride, the heavy falls of the hooves on the ground, and a clear endless blue sky above her; and her arms opened to take in all of it.

From the side of the road, on a small slope overlooking the land dark eyes watched the figures in the field while Galeo tore green shards from the ground. The bliss and the freedom of it, and he too recalled the days that he and his brothers would test the speed of their horses against one another, simply for the state of it. The feeling of flying. How fair you are... He took in the black and white in the wind. A single flake of frost glowing in the fire... The glow off her skin in the sunlight, and he admired the fortune of his lord, that the heart of his wife was reflected in her visage. He smiled as a vague memory came back. His mother was different, too. Slender and fair skinned, blue eyed and black haired, she was antonymous from the rest of their kin. And while she was a comely woman, not the most beautiful; but she taught them that beauty lay in what you chose to see in others. They had the best, while their father focused on capability and valour she strengthened their hearts with kindness and compassion. Claira and Rhegard came back up the slope to the road, smiling and laughing, and then they stopped and she looked at him seeing no one else on the road.

"Ser Falgon, where are the rest of our company?" she asked,

"They have continued down the path, your grace. Your father advised that the party will have the horses rested at a nearby brook while they wait for you, before resuming the journey to the white hold." he informed, and she looked back at Rhegard.

"Well, I believe we've kept them waiting long enough." she urged, and allowed her horse to pass to an easy trot down the path while her brother watched her, and then his attention returned to the sentinel.

"You speak to my sister like she is a queen." he mentioned, sounding subtly envious and Falgon smiled.

"She is a queen. The burning mountain has long been the seat of the Ardent Kings, and although the title has been formally revoked, the bloodline still endures. Shall we join the others, my lord?" he raised his hand to indicate the way forward, and Rhegard chuckled.

"You're so strange." he teased, and the bay stallion moved on.

"I've been named worse things, my lord." Falgon said, and they followed the trot of the rose-gold stallion into a wooded area, and found the party settled beside a wide stream before they would cross a wooden bridge, most of the horses unsaddled and unharnessed to sate their thirst on the cool of the water while their families enjoyed one another's company under the shade of the leaves. Claira slipped from the saddle into Raeghun's waiting arms before a guard led Brazier away for his rest.

"Did you enjoy your ride?" he asked, and she blushed.

"I did, thank you." Rhegard and Falgon joined the group, and their conversation. Gerald told of his excitement for his wedding to lady Dyana Umber, youngest sister to lord Jon Umber of Last Hearth, and how they met quite by accident near to two years ago attending counsel for lord Eddard Stark, and after that evening's feast their affection blossomed. But it was near to a year later that he finally gathered up the courage to ask the proud young lord's consent for his sister's hand, along with that of their liege, and to his elation all agreed.

"I can't wait to meet her." Claira thought happily, and Gerald laughed.

"I believe you will like her. She's a fair woman, capable and passionate; but like lord Jon she has inherited the pride of house Umber." he told, and Willmon leaned forward slightly from his place on a log next to his Alyssa.

"You've made a good choice, Gerald. It is a sad thing that not all in our positions are allowed the freedom to marry for love." he praised, and Gerald smiled at him.

"I had my father's fortune. You too, married for love." Gerald said, and Willmon's eyes went to the ground.

"I did. Not entirely according to my father's own wishes; but I announced my intentions to him before he had the opportunity to make it known to the north whom he chose as my intended." he sat back and took Alyssa's hand.

"This day, I could not be happier." he said, his eyes resting on his eldest daughter, a sadness hidden deep in the silvery-blue depths and she knew what he was thinking. I married for love, your brother marries for love, and I promised you to someone you didn't even know... She looked away from him, at Raeghun next to her and smiled. Why should I have chosen? Yes, you promised me to someone, but my life could not be better, Adah... With the horses rested, they resumed their journey along the woodland path; the men at the front of the column and Claira joined her mother and sister in the wheelhouse, allowing her Brazier to follow along unburdened. As twilight settled in they made camp amidst the trees with Willmon assuring that with the roads calm and clear they may reach Pale Haven quite early the following day. A bright fire burned under skinned rabbits and a pot of broth, and with everyone fed and weary they retired to their tents for the evening. Berin took first watch as always, looking up at the stars and longing for his wife, wondering what she was doing and if her sheets felt as cold and empty as his bedroll.

"You must be tired." came a voice from the shadows, and Falgon appeared like a ghost out of the darkness, sitting down opposite from him and adding wood to the flames of the fire.

"It's been a long day, I'll confess." he said, feeling his legs ache.

"Go. Find your rest, I'll keep watch." Falgon offered, and Berin found himself grateful as he stood.

"Thank you. But if anything happens-" he started, and his friend looked up at him.

"Nothing will happen, I assure you." he promised, and Berin nodded before leaving for his tent. Falgon sat watching the trees, the shadows that danced between them. The forest looked different, the trees were wider and taller than since his last passing by here; but he wasn't sure how long ago that was. His eyes went to the flames, thinking of how illogical time had become to him; like everything stopped at some point and only now started to move again.

The horses made their way up a small slope where the world became increasingly bereft of colour as they moved forward. It was mid-morning when Claira smiled excitedly.

"We're here." She pointed to a cloud of mist settled between a lush woodland and the start of what might have been high hills behind it, blue roofed towers only just escaping the top of the fog. As they slowly approached the thick mist, they could start making out shapes and shadows, edges of buildings, the forms of high towers, and great white-stone structures.

"That's why it's called 'Pale Haven'. Northern currents push moist air from the Bay of Ice over the hills where it condenses, and then settles here over our home. It is a rare day that it is clear." Gerald explained. The mist grew thicker around them as they closed the distance between them and the high white castle. Somewhere in the unseen, someone called out and they could hear heavy chains rattling, the sound of cogs turning and iron straining as a great gate was drawn up. Then the portcullis came into view, and they entered into a wide outer bailey, felines of all sizes and colours sprinting across their view here and there while others sat perched on barrels and posts watching the arrivals. The walls displayed the elegant albeit not ferocious banners of house Tormont, a lean black cat leaping high over a field of emerald green, ready to bring down its prey. Along the left wall a long stable kept the horses, further down a small door opened next to a high arch leading further into the castle grounds to more buildings. In front of them, a wide staircase led to a giant arched dark double door, granting passage into the castle. To the right, a burning forge glowed next to an armoury; and another wide arch led into the castle grounds, towards what seemed to be a wooded area. Castle hands were busy tying ribbons to the trees, and others approached to start unloading the wheelhouse and cart while stable boys emerged to tend to the horses as they dismounted.

"Make yourselves at home. Your sentinels will have full access to the halls and grounds of Pale Haven, save for the western quarter." Willmon invited, and was accepted gratefully. The grandness of this place was astounding, all hidden out of sight by its natural defence, and Falgon supposed that it could only be found by those who already knew where it was, or by those who were severely favoured by luck. He cast another glance towards the arch leading to the forested field.

"The gods grove." He looked down to see lady Claira standing next to him, and then he looked back towards the arch.

"You've never seen it?" she asked.

"I've never seen anything, like any of this." He confessed.

"I could show you, later. If you want to?" he smiled gently.

"Thank you, your grace. But I would much rather not. I don't believe that your gods would appreciate an outsider fouling their holy ground." He declined.

"You're religious." She determined, and he laughed at that.

"No, your grace. I'm afraid I'm not truly religious at all. No god has ever done anything for me; the old, the new, the drowned, the red, the faceless… they're all just names to me. But I can still respect those who are. People need something to believe in." he said, and she turned slightly towards him.

"And what is it that you believe in?" she asked tentatively.

"I'm not sure, yet. Perhaps humanity's will for perseverance." he decided temporarily. They entered the white castle into a great stone hall, doors stood open to both sides into two more great halls, the ballroom to the left and a grand feast hall to the right, while a smaller door opened to a kitchen to its left. A wide staircase led to a second flat level under a wide circled window, allowing passage to sunlight from where two more stairways led to a third level, doors open to long hallways down each side of the window, leading the ways to the guardrooms tower and servants' quarters down the north east and the nobles living quarters to the north west. Claira stopped in front of the stairs, and breathed in the cool, moist air of Pale Haven, and let the air go slowly as she remembered her life here. Peaceful, and blissful were the days that she and her siblings played in these halls. That she spent with maester Kenard to learn, the steals to the kitchen where their cook could always be found with something special. The handmaidens that always bickered about who would be allowed to tend to her care; and the guards and hands that favoured a once little girl; a blue rose petal between the purple. Then she heard her name called, and she turned. An old, shrunken woman came from the kitchen, short and thin with long grey hair tied securely behind her head by a worn leather strip. She smiled broadly, revealing white but crooked teeth between small lips, her nose slightly awry as having once been broken by her spouse, which she thoroughly compensated with a black eye and bloody lip; but her deep grey eyes sparkled as she raised her hands to Claira, and she returned the gesture with happiness.

"Lady Claira, my winter child. Welcome home." she said, and Claira made out the sparkle in her eyes for tears.

"Arima. Sweet, sweet Arima; how wonderful to see you." she said, wrapping her arms around the shoulders of the little woman, whose hair only just touched Claira's cheek from where she stood. Raeghun and Berin glanced at one another. Then Claira released her, and Arima pulled back, her hands taking Claira's.

"What would you like for supper, child?" she asked eagerly, and Claira laughed.

"Oh, how I've longed for your butter and parsley goose, Arima. If my mother won't object, we'll have that tonight." she said, the grey eyes glinting.

"Your mother won't have no problems with that." she assured, and a sudden call made them all turn.

"Gerald!" A young man entered the great hall, average height, gaunt with a plain face, short nose, dark hair and light eyes. He was smiling as he approached and extended a hand to Gerald, who took it.

"Welcome, Charle. A bit early, though." Gerald smiled, hailing yet another guest and long time friend from the Dreadfort, two years his senior; younger brother and a blunt opposition from lord Roose Bolton.

"Well, I thought I would extend my visit somewhat." he said, and then his eyes went to the other guests and he moved forward to greet them, approaching Claira first.

"Greetings, lady Claira. What a pleasure to see you again." he said as he bowed, and took her hand.

"Good day, lord Charle. Thank you, for your welcome." his mouth lingered on her hand, a moment longer than what would be accepted as mere courtesy before he straightened and looked at the others.

"And the lords of the Corridor as well." he approached them smiling, and extended a hand.

"So, you're the fiery bird." he grinned enthusiastically as his hand took Raeghun's, the pressure of the greeting more arduous than normal, and the eyes alight with something that was not just friendliness.

"I've heard a few stories about your family." he added, and an instant dislike for the man took hold.

"Careful, stories come from somewhere." Raeghun returned with a reassured grin, but Charle remained smiling at him.

"That they do, the good and the bad I'm afraid." he agreed, and Claira appeared wrapping her hands around her husband's arm.

"Raeghun, my love. Shall we inspect our chambers? I'd like the opportunity to choose a suitable garment for this evening's feast." she suggested, and Raeghun nodded.

"We will speak again, my lord." he assured as he faced Charle again, and his smile broadened.

"I look forward to it." he said, and they moved off deeper into the castle while lord Bolton watched them. They went down long hallways, her hands still around his elbow; but his silence and forward stare signalled that he was not at peace.

"Please don't mind him. He's an old friend of my brother, and he is rather free-spoken." Raeghun turned to her.

"I don't know enough to place him yet, but suffice it to say that my first impression of him was not the best I have had." he placed his arms around her.

"But neither was it the worst." he smiled, and she lay her head against his chest.

"It will be al right. He takes some getting used to." she assured, hearing him sigh.

"Your kitchen master is very fond of you." he recollected, and she drew back.

"Arima, yes. She's more than just our cook, she helped raise me and my siblings from little more than hour old babes. I can't remember the count of times that she sat up with us through the nights..." she trailed off, considering the old woman closer to family than a servant. The day progressed as all settled in, and the sentinels were housed in the guardrooms. Claira befittingly dressed with the rest of their family, and wore a fine wide sleeved dress of green silk with a velvet neckline and gold hemlines, with a woven gold-thread girdle, decorated with red quartz. To their great delight, Arima delivered her finest work to their tables.

A week was spent at the White Hold, with all its comings and excitement; and while not shadowing Claira, Falgon could be found in lord Willmon's extensive library. Raeghun made an effort to familiarize himself with Charle, and while he was an outspoken man, was not entirely unpleasant. They shared their tales, and spent time hawking while Claira brought through her time with her mother and sister, again trying her hand at the old harp that gave little cooperation while at their evening feasts lord Willmon would share the history of their house. Long ago, two brothers founded the Tormont lineage, prized for their strategic skills they spent generations fighting by the side of the revered and proud Starks. Gerald Keen-Eye Tormont and his brother, Dorrican helped Brandon the Builder raise the wall, and gave him their hands in building their seat of Winterfell before he in turn gave his aid in construction of the white castle in the mist, where after the families shared many years around the same tables. And according to an ancient legend: engaging a particularly discouraging clash, lord Willmar Tormont vowed to subdue the enemy with a count of three thousand men. To prove his assurance and loyalty, he took his own dagger from his side and cut a lesion down the length of his fore arm; presenting it to the liege of Winterfell at that time, lord Benjen Stark who was great grandson to lord Brandon "the Builder" Stark, declaring into the world their house words: "Victory Is The Red In Our Blood".Somewhere in their bloodlines, Starks became Tormonts, and Tormonts became Starks, binding their near to ageless alliance; but as time went on a difficult feud split the family and the enraged member altered their name, taking a ferocious black bear as their sigil. A stern contrast from the luxe leaping feline. But loyal to the north and its liege, they have all remained throughout the aeons, and peace found its way back home again. Yet, after another age lord Rhegard Tormont fought for King Torrhen Stark, and won several battles; however, despite his fighting spirit he understood and respected his liege for submitting to Aegon I at the Trident after the Field of Fire onslaught before peace once again returned to the land. Claira loved these stories, and could listen to her father tell them as much as he cared to; and found that the rest of her new house was taken with them as well. In days, finally the bride made her appearance at the white hold with her family. As told by Gerald, she was both fair and spirited, her hair the colour of honey and eyes like opaque; and she was welcomed to the family fervently. With sunset the following day she stood by Gerald's side under the gods grove great weirwood in a marvellous hooded dress of white silk, lined with soft snow fox fur around the wide sleeves, the sigil of her house embroidered with silver on the bodice. They received each other as was tradition for the old north, and all gathered in the feast hall to celebrate the union of once separate lives. The affair was grand, and people connected around the cook's elegant feast amidst fine music and dancing until late into the night, when the bride and groom vanished from the great hall, and others left for their own chambers, and a few were left to continue the festivities throughout the night; and as morning came passed another day in fondness before newly wed lady Dyana Tormont greeted her brother farewell, and he returned home. With the sky long dark and only a few stars visible over the high towers, Claira sat on the bed in their chambers brushing out her hair, and then the thought occurred to her that she had not visited the gods grove for communion yet, and perhaps would do so tonight before they returned home as well. And seeing as Raeghun was still with Berin, addressing their journey home in the next day, hoped she would be back before he could find her missing. She had made a promise that she would never go anywhere alone, save for their sanctuary in Mount Ardor, but this was her home too. She would be safe here. There was no need for a sentinel. She slipped into a dark blue dress, and into flat black shoes before heading out the door and down the long halls that were little more than silent, passing serving girls and pages, here and there a guard. She exited the great doors and made her way into the peace that was their gods grove, a long trail leading to the great heart tree where she sat down on a log under the crimson leaves and looked up at the face that stared back at her. A face, much like her father's. Calm, calculating, understanding the eyes stared forward to take in all that was before it.

"I know, you might not be able to see me where I am..." she said softly, rocking slightly where she sat.

"Mount Ardor doesn't have a gods grove, or any weirwood trees. I don't know if it's too warm for you to grow there, or if you just never took any roots there..." she lightened her heart to the old ones, told them every experience she had away from their watchful eyes. She told them of the kindness of their people, and of the strength of their house. Of all her joys and fears and wants; hopes, dreams, favours and promises before realizing she had stayed longer than she intended. She stood and took a crimson leaf from a low hanging branch, casting it into a clear pond. 'Keep my family safe; my blood and my name and all those who serve under us and stand under our protection. Guide us and greet us with a new sunrise.' Then she turned and returned down the path, the way she came back to the hold, and as the arch came into view a shadow stepped from the brush in front of her, bringing her to a halt, and she looked up into light eyes.

"Charle?" he smiled at her.

"Hello, Claira." he greeted, and she looked around at the empty space.

"What are you doing here? It's late." she asked, and he shrugged.

"Same as you, I suppose." he decided, her eyes spared a fleeting glance at the white tree far behind them.

"Oh, I just-" she started, but he raised his hand to a stone bench next to the path between the shrubs, close to the wall.

"It's al right. Won't you sit with me for a while before we head back?" he invited.

"I really should go; I did not tell anyone that I was coming here, and have already stayed longer than I intended to." she mentioned, and he laughed at that.

"Do you need permission, to visit your gods?" he asked, making her flush.

"Of course not, I just…" I made a promise. He took a step forward, guiding her towards the seat.

"Then there's no rush. It's just a little while longer." Charle urged, and she sighed.

"Al right, just a little while." she agreed, and they walked to the side of the trail to sit down on the bench. Although the seat was wide enough to hold three people, he sat closer to her than she deemed necessary, unless they were whispering, and a distinct odour of eucalyptus engulfed her.

"I haven't seen you since you left for the Corridor. Are you happy there?" he asked, his eyes searching her face as she smiled.

"Yes, I am. The people are kind, and I am very well cared for. And you, still at your brother's hold?" she said, and he nodded.

"Yes, and I probably will be for a long time. I'm surprised that your brother waited so long to be wed." he said, leaning back and laying his arms on the backrest of the bench.

"He was waiting for the right person. Lucky for him, he didn't have to cross countries to find her." he regarded her closely.

"He was very lucky there. Unlike you, being swept away so far from your family." he sympathised, but she waved it off.

"Oh, it couldn't be helped. But missing them is the only sadness I have at Mount Ardor." then she looked back at him.

"You haven't married yet, either." she noted, and again he shrugged before sitting forward again.

"Perhaps I'm waiting for the right person, too. But it seems I may wait for a long time." he breathed in and out slowly, but she smiled.

"It will happen for you. I'm sure one day you'll walk into the hall and she'll be standing right there smiling at you." she tried to encourage him, and he glanced away.

"I wish I could share your positivism. But it might not be that easy." then he looked back at her, his light eyes meeting hers in earnest.

"Had you not been given to the Taugere's, I would have asked for your hand." he told her, but she felt annoyed at the term he chose to use, like she was some item used in trade.

"I wasn't given to anyone, Charle." she corrected him, but he smirked at her.

"Really? So, what would you call it?" he asked, waiting for a better term. Granted the facts were what they were, she didn't want to see it that way. She couldn't.

"I'm not going to argue with you, it's too nice a night." she looked away from him and up at the stars, those she could see through the haze.

"Al right, I'm sorry. I didn't come here to upset you, besides." he said, sharing her view of the sky.

"So, why did you?" she asked him, and could see him shaking his head.

"I don't know. Perhaps the gods brought me here to see you again. I've always loved you, Claira. Always. Not even your marriage ever changed that." he said softly, and she sighed.

"Charle, we've been friends for a long time. At some point, I might have felt something for you, too. But that was years ago." she confessed, recalling a time that she admired this man, his confidence, his pride, his esteem. He turned towards her.

"I know…" he said softly, and in the dark she could see his hand raise to her face, hard fingers softly stroking the flawless skin of her cheek in the subtle glow of the high torches. His lips moved in a gentle smile, eyes searching hers and he leaned forward.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she pulled back, away from him.

"Something I've wanted to do for a long time." he came forward still, fingers searching into her hair for a hold.

"I have to go." she stood, forcing an escape and started down the pathway towards the arch; but he came to his feet, and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"No, Claira. Wait." he pulled her back against him, his arms encircling her and tightening to hold her to his chest.

"Charle…" she breathed against him, feeling the shudder of his arms.

"I love you. After all these years, I still love you." he whispered, but the sentiment was not shared.

"Please. Please let me go." she begged, pushing against him but his grip tightened even more.

"You could have been mine. You should have been mine!" he suddenly pulled back from her, his left hand going into her hair.

"Stop it! Let go of me!" her heart pounded against her ribs, desperate for escape and she struggled against him.

"Give me this one night, to show you." he urged, his left hand closing for control of her face while the fingers of his right strained harshly into her back despite the heavy fabric of her dress, and he moved forward to conceal their presence with the shadows and shrubs.

"Stop it! Charle, you're hurting me, let me go!" she pleaded, almost cried as a tingling acidity spread through her; and he brought his face close to hers.

"Release her." a clear voice froze him, deep and commanding. He turned, and the sourness through her veins vanished.

"Falgon!" he stood under the arch, watching them. Charle's hands came away from her back and hair, but he took hold of her wrist pulling her behind him, attempting to conceal her from her sentinel's view; but already having utterly failed.

"Leave. You have no business here." he ordered, but the tall figure remained where he was.

"When a lady has to tell you 'no' more than once, you're a threat; and that makes it my business." Falgon said, but Charle smirked again remembering that since his arrival this man had never come near these grounds.

"You won't enter here; you're afraid of the gods." he reminded the sentinel, but then to his surprise Falgon moved forward, stepping through the arch. Claira's eyes widened, a darkness followed him like a great shadow, veiling the world behind him, even the torches.

"I fear nothing. The single reason I did not enter this place was out of respect for these people." Falgon said as he walked forward, sure and intent. Charle's grip around Claira's wrist tensed, and she winced at the force of the fingers digging into her skin.

"I will not tell you again to leave, and mind your own business!" Charle commanded as he took a step backward, and Falgon grinned.

"Do you believe that your words will deter me? I ask you a final time, to release her." he said, and then stopped inches away from lord Charle Bolton, who tried to retain his confidence in the face of this being.

"You wouldn't dare raise a hand to a lord of the north." he warned, and Falgon scoffed.

"I care little for titles, it doesn't matter to me if you're a peasant or a king." he said, and Charle's hand suddenly let go of her arm and flung a fist at her sentinel's face.

"You impudent mongrel!" Falgon caught the fist easily, inches from his jaw; then cast it aside as he would discard an apple core. He stepped forward, his hand clamping down on Charle's shoulder, then shoved him backwards against the white wall, his head slamming into the stone painfully before he sank to the ground. Claira's hands covered her mouth in shock as she took in what occurred in front of her eyes, and Flagon looked back at her.

"My apologies for fouling your gods grove, your grace. Are you hurt?" he was indifferent, as if he had done nothing more than swatting a fly.

"No…" she whispered, numbness stretching through her limbs, and he moved forward.

"Come." his powerful arms went around her back and behind her knees, then he picked her up from the ground and returned the way he came while she lay shuddering against him. She knew what would follow, and pressed her cold hands to her cheeks as she closed her eyes.

"How do you always do that?" she asked softly as he entered the white hold with his lady in his arms, to the stares of those around them, and she realized he didn't have the slightest care for them, of what went through their minds.

"Do what, your grace?" he asked as he walked, carrying her up the steps and into the western quarter, and she whimpered slightly.

"How do you know… How do you always know when I need you?" she asked, having to battle a sob; but he smiled as he spared her a caring glance.

"I belong to you, your grace. I am your shield. I will always be there, whenever you need me." he promised her once again, and she found herself admiring him even more as a wave of heat struck her face and she covered her eyes.

"Oh… Falgon…" she fought against the tears, passing torches and shadows as her mind struggled. Why? Why do you do this? What have I done to deserve this kind of loyalty from you? We found you entirely by chance one day, and in so little time you've given so much to me... while I've given you nothing but difficulty even before you were officially recognised by our hall... I don't... I don't even know your real name... He stopped in front of a door, knocking softly twice and Raeghun opened the door to them, his face changing instantly to concern.

"What happened?" he asked as Falgon set Claira down in front of him, his left hand very gently forcing her forward into her husband's arms. Voices sounded in the hallway, and he looked towards the activity before turning back.

"Stay here." he said, and Raeghun moved slightly forward, bringing his wife to his side further into the chamber.

"What's going on?" he demanded again.

"I will accept my punishment." Falgon assured, but Claira turned towards him.

"No, Falgon! You didn't do anything wrong." she denied, Raeghun's hands came away from her and he stood in the doorway, the voices sounding louder in the hallway.

"What happened, Falgon?" he asked, and Falgon's eyes met his calmly.

"I have stained the gods grove. If it please, sire. Please leave this to me." he said, and then bowed and left them; Raeghun turned back to Claira, her hands clasped in front of her chest. He moved to her, his eyes searching her flushed face.

"Claira, what happened?" he asked again, urgently attempting to piece together the situation. Her eyes came to his, the frost blue striking into him.

"He didn't do anything. He didn't do anything wrong! Please, Raeghun." she begged as her hands went to his chest. He breathed in, and then turned to follow the shadows passing down the hallway, leaving her in the safety of their chamber. As he moved down the hallway, he started hearing whispers, stories of an attack on the sacred grounds. Who attached who, exactly? He descended the steps, and saw the tall figure standing in the glow of a fire emitting from lord Willmon's library, and approached to the voice of the lord.

"You realize the penalties of this, ser Falgon? The gods grove is sacred." Willmon's calm voice warned, to an equally calm reply.

"I understand, your excellence. I will face whatever punishment you deem just, without resistance." Raeghun entered the library to find his father by law, brothers Gerald and Rhegard, along with Charle facing his sentinels Berin and Falgon before the hearth.

"What you're accusing him of, can't be accurate." Berin defended, to the annoyance of lord Bolton.

"He attacked me, in the gods grove, no less." Charle insisted, looking towards Willmon to ensure he understood the severity of the crime.

"What were you doing, before my sentinel 'attacked' you?" Raeghun asked as he stepped forward, placing himself between the strongest of his sentinels.

"I was speaking with Claira." Charle said innocently, but the words seemed oddly out of place for the circumstances.

"Is that all?" he asked, not being fully able to simply accept the answer given.

"She's a good friend to me. I'm allowed to have a conversation with an old friend." Charle advised, again bringing to light his own feelings on the matter.

"Charle has been a guest in these halls many times, and a close friend for years. There should be no reason to believe that he would have provoked a situation like this." Gerald added, trying as they could to split the confusion.

"Ser Falgon would do nothing without just cause." Berin defended once again as Rhegard regarded the tall figure.

"He was a mercenary. He doesn't need cause." the young man reminded them, and Raeghun's eyes met him sharply.

"He is a sentinel." he corrected him, rather harshly; and finally Willmon sighed shaking his head, having heard enough words thrown aimlessly about.

"Well then, this is getting us nowhere." then he looked at each of them, his eyes settling momentarily longer on Raeghun than the others.

"Stay here until I return, continue your bickering if you must but keep your fists to yourselves. I'll have no blood in my halls tonight." he ordered and moved off, through the halls. There was only one remaining who would have the answer he needed to put to rest this matter; there was no one else in the gods grove tonight. For near to a fortnight, Falgon did not enter those grounds, and did so this night without any hesitation. Charle accused him of attacking him while he was speaking with the lord's daughter, and he accepted the charges; even confessed to doing so. But when met with the question for his motive, there was nothing but silence. There are reasons to everything. Silence may be an answer, but it does not give him enough to pass judgement. Yes, the Boltons have shared their hearths and tables many times, and kept faith for many years; but this is severely out of place. There was a reason to this, that could only be... "Your daughter is my queen, your excellence. She gave me every reason to my existence. There is nothing I would not do for her."

"Father?" he stopped and turned, seeing where she stood in the arch of another corridor leading to the east.

"Oh, there you are." he registered as he came towards her, her glinting blue eyes deep and scared.

"What happened?" she asked softly, not entirely being able to conceal the quiver of her voice.

"Lord Charle has accused ser Falgon of attacking him in the gods grove, but there are conflicting versions. As I understand, you were the only other witness present. So, that's exactly what I wanted to ask you." he said, and she stared at him; the only sound in the hallway the faint crackling of the torches and soft orange light overhead. Willmon took a step closer to her, and they were concealed from any other eyes inside the adjoined corridor.

"Claira, you've never lied to me. Tell me truly, what happened in the gods grove? Why did your sentinel attack Charle?" she stepped back, utterly failing to hide herself from her father's eyes, eyes that saw deep into you, like they could read every thought as clear as an open book. It was this that made it so difficult to keep anything from him, like he already knew but needed you to say it.

"Falgon didn't… He didn't do anything wrong…" she stammered, and her father moved forward, maintaining the distance between them; calm, calculating, controlling without asserting any force.

"Al right. You've told me what did not happen. Now I ask you again: What did?" he asked again, in a voice soft like rushes through the leaves. Her hands covered her face as she looked down.

"Falgon is a sentinel. He's my sentinel… He would never hurt anyone… He protects me…" she told, withering against the storm of emotions, and then his hands found her shoulders.

"Claira, was Falgon protecting you when this happened?" he asked, and felt her start to shudder under his touch.

"He… Charle… he… And Falgon…" and then she cried, releasing the constraint against the tears.

"Adah…" she whimpered as his arms went around her and held her close to him, and he understood.

"Oh… Oh, my precious winter rose. It's al right." he comforted her, breathing in the cool air of the hall.

"It's al right. Don't worry, we'll make this right." he promised, and she looked up at him, the frost blue seeming so much more intense, set in the red of her tear stricken eyes.

"Please… Please don't tell Raeghun. I don't want more misfortune than what there already is. This was supposed to be a happy time, and now I've come and ruined it." she pleaded, and lay her head against his shoulder again, his hands gently stroking her still shuddering frame.

"No. You didn't do anything. Whatever misfortune this is, Claira; it was not brought on by you." he corrected her, feeling her breathe against him, trying to bring calmness to herself.

"Please don't say anything." she begged him again, and he nodded.

"If it distresses you so, I won't. Not to them. Now go back to your chambers." he instructed, and watched her leave back down the hallway before returning to his library where the young men were still in furious argument; which quite suddenly died out once he stepped through the door and made his way calmly to them.

"Return to your rooms. I will pass my judgement on ser Falgon with sunrise." he ordered, and waited patiently as the lords of the Corridor, and young Rhegard made their way out of the library, and down the hall; hoping for a safe distance. Only Charle and Gerald remained.

"Lord Willmon, that man attacked me. He's ruthless." Charle insisted, and then those eyes met him. Sharp and intent, and cold.

"Hold your tongue! He should have hit you harder. Pray that my son does not hear of this while you are within his reach, or he'll have all the Corridor down on your head. Ser Falgon protected my daughter when she tried to resist your advances, and then he accepted your accusations to avoid further unpleasantness. If anything, you should thank him for shielding your stupidity. I should have you expelled from Pale Haven, but will tolerate your presence until morning for the friendship of our houses. By then, I want you either gone, or issuing your sincere apology to each that you have wronged." Despite the Grey Tom never raising his voice beyond a solid utter, there was force and power to his words.

"My lord…" Charle started, having to admit defeat.

"You're young, Charle. People make mistakes; and the most foolish are the hardest to amend. But I will expect if from you nonetheless, either way." Willmon said, and then turned and left the library while Charle and Gerald remained. Gerald's clear eyes met his, frigid with anger.

"How could you do this?" he demanded, and Charle looked away towards a now empty hall.

"I love her, Gerald. I always have… I just…" he confessed, and Gerald turned to face him.

"You didn't even notice her before she almost turned ten, and was promised to the lord of the Corridor." he accused, but Charle simply shrugged.

"It was a mistake. One I'd realized too late." he said, Gerald's frustration clearly mounting.

"Yes, it is too late. And now suddenly you want it different?" he asked, challenging him for an answer.

"I just wanted one chance; one chance to show her." he explained before a hard fist found his jaw and he staggered backwards.

"You arrogant dupe! What made you think that she would ever allow that?" Gerald demanded from him, and Charle's hand came up to the sting to his skin.

"Gerald-" he tried once again to justify his actions, but Gerald stepped forward pointing at him.

"Stay away from my sister. The only instance you may see her is to apologise to her, and to Falgon." he determined, then left to calm himself elsewhere.

Claira sat on the edge of the bed as Raeghun entered their chamber, and closed the door securely. He stood silent for a moment, breathing in deeply and then turned towards her.

"What happened?" he asked, coming closer to her, and then she looked away from him to shield her eyes.

"Nothing happened…" she said softly, and the frustration in him grew.

"How idiotic do you hope I am, Claira?" he asked suddenly, and she did face him then.

"Raeghun-" she started, but the fire in him already tore away at his restraint.

"I know that something happened! And that it happened because of you!" he said, and she came to her feet to approach him.

"Please listen to me-" she rose her hands to him, her voice kept low in an attempt to calm him, but the blaze was infuriating.

"Falgon would not have assaulted a lord, or even entered your gods grove unless he perceived a threat to you." he said as she moved closer to him; the flames of rage gnawing away at his muscles.

"Raeghun, please-" she begged again, and his hands wrapped around her arms.

"He wasn't just talking to you, was he?" he demanded, his fingers tightening more than he intended to.

"Was he?" she looked down, she wouldn't answer him... she couldn't. And he knew.

"I'll kill him. I'll kill him for what he did!" he released her, and turned heading for the door. But she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him, he could feel her tremble against him.

"Raeghun, stop! Stop it, please… Please…" she begged as she held on to him, and he breathed. The coolness of her skin dousing the blaze in him, and he turned so she could press herself against his chest.

"I am yours… Only yours… I always will be…" she promised, the skin of her cheek chill against his throat and his arms went around her, his mouth pressed to her hair.

"I know. I'm not angry at you, I'm angry at the situation." his left hand came to her face, and he made her look up at him again

"I have to be so careful to keep you safe." he could manage a small, grateful smile.

"Would you have preferred a different wife?" she asked, and he laughed.

"Oh, hell no. I'll put you in a box and carry you with me if I must. I couldn't live with myself if I ever let anything happen to you." he pressed her against him, allowing her frost to diminish his flame.

"And I thank the stars, that Falgon takes his duty this seriously…" he breathed, blessing the day the former mercenary lay his sword down to them.

"You trust him that much?" she asked, having to snigger.

"He has never given me any reason not to. I am more suspicious of your handmaidens than I am of him." he drew back from her, his memories receding to a past not too long ago.

"Do you remember, our journey back home from the tournament?" he asked,

"Of course I do." she tried not to reflect on it, on the fear and the dreams.

"Had Falgon truly been a mercenary at heart, he could have taken advantage of the situation himself. But he didn't. Not then, and not tonight. For the second time in less than three months, his only interest was protecting you, and bringing you back to me. That's how I knew then… and how I know now that I can trust him." he confirmed, and then lay his head against hers, his arms again growing tighter around her small frame.

"I love you, Claira. I love you more than anything in this world. I would do anything, give anything to see you safe and happy. And so help me, if I need to surrender anything, or destroy everything for your sake, I will do it." he said, and her hands touched his face.

"Raeghun, there is only one thing that I need from you; and that is to be at your side. For the next hundred, or thousand years, I don't care. I just need you." he smiled at her.

"You have me. Always." he leaned down to kiss her, sweet and gentle before the flames in him fired again and he slid the dress from her shoulders. He kissed her deeply and passionately as he took her from the floor and lay her on the bed, releasing himself from his garments and bringing himself closer between her knees, his lips warm and ravenous against the skin of her throat; and he made her gasp against him.

It was close to midnight when Willmon returned to his library, finding that sleep evaded him this night. While deciding on stealing to the kitchen for warm spiced wine, and claiming a book from his library to distract his mind, he found Falgon in the glow of the hearth, a book open in his hands, and the great sword against the wall next to the fireplace, and Willmon assumed that this was his watch. He breathed in, and slowly approached.

"There's no need for a vigil, ser. You may find your rest." he assured, and the dark eyes came up at him as the sentinel lay the book down on the table, stood and bowed.

"Thank you, your excellence. But I find that I have rather conformed to the nights. And please, I'm no 'ser'." he corrected, once again.

"Regardless..." Willmon moved to the fire, deciding on how to continue.

"I've finally realized who you are." he said softly, his eyes set on the flames before he turned back; the sentinel staring at him, his interest in the book forgotten. He recognised a single moment of surprise in the dark eyes before it faded, and he smiled.

"Please forgive my saying so, your excellence. But I highly doubt that." he returned calmly, almost confidently.

"That depends on your perspective. You're different from most men, both physically and mentally. You're taller, stronger, faster, smarter, calmer and greatly skilled. These traits, even individually are not something people are often simply born with; and you're still this young. And your speech is something that I've never heard before, despite my time on this earth." Willmon pointed out, judging that the sentinel could not have been long past ten years his eldest son's senior.

"I've had the time to learn, your excellence." Falgon said, and Willmon reflected on that.

"Yes, I assume it must have taken years from you." he agreed, feeling sympathy.

"Many. Whilst most boys may recall the exhilaration of feeling a bladed edge in their hands the first time, I can scarcely recall a time that I was without one." he told, and then Willmon smiled.

"Also, when loyalty means more to you, than honour; it makes you dangerous. It makes you unpredictable." Willmon identified.

"Mercenaries complete their assignments simply for coin, they have little use for honour." Falgon said, and Willmon breathed out, white teeth showing from his full beard.

"True. Mercenaries have never shown much regard for honour, or loyalty. But you're not a mercenary, are you? You have shown more in both of these, than some lords that have come to my hall." he recollected before returning his eyes to Falgon's.

"Further, you are driven by an irrefutable, perhaps even irrational motivation to protect my daughter." he added,

"I belong to her. I am her shield. Nothing more." Falgon said, and Willmon nodded.

"That you are. But you are more." he said, assuringly to the confusion, perhaps even frustration of the sentinel.

"I don't know what you mean." he said as he looked away from the lord.

"You will. You may be seen as a commoner, Falgon. But your blood is old. Perhaps even as old as mine. And although I may not know you, or your exact origin; I must tell you that it brings me great relief that you are watching over my Claira. You came into their lives a shadow, now one of their brightest flames." Willmon said, and a short silence followed; but Falgon did not meet his eyes.

"I've been searching for so long..." he said softly, and Willmon approached laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Your search has ended. You are where you must be." he assured, and the dark eyes came to him. After a moment's pause, he smiled and nodded; grateful for the compassion and discretion of the lord.

"I am her shield." he confirmed again, and Willmon smiled warmly.

"You are their stone." Willmon added, again to the same instant of surprise; but the smile remained.

"Good night, Falgon." he greeted, and then moved past the sentinel.

"Sleep well, your excellence." he returned, Willmon paused for a moment sparing the book open on the table a fleeting glance.

"The Black Sword. Quite an interesting piece, I must say. There are only three of those books in existence, if I recall correctly. One is held in the Citadel in Oldtown, the other I believe to be in an archive in Braavos. And the last, here." he recognised the work.

"It is. But to my regret, I might not be able to finish it." Falgon agreed,

"Take it with you. You may return it to me in time." Willmon proposed.

"I couldn't, your excellence. Such a rare piece, must remain protected." Falgon declined politely, and then Willmon turned back to him.

"I insist. A single tome won't leave my assemblage empty." Willmon said smiling.

"Thank you, your excellence. I will take care of it, I promise." he said, and then Willmon turned to leave the library.

"I know you will." he affirmed, perhaps not entirely referring to the book alone, then disappeared through the door. Falgon then brought his attention back to the book as he resumed his place, taking the book up in his hands, but not taking in a single word as his mind and memories withdrew.

Early morning came, under the cover of white mist and preparations started for a journey home. Charle ascended the staircase to a figure approaching, shadowed by a tall guard.

"Claira, may I see you?" he asked, and she stopped to look at him, the clear blue of her eyes doing little to shadow her awareness of him.

"Why?" she asked, reserved and wary.

"Because this may be the last time I ever do. I'm leaving for the Dreadfort today." he explained, and took a step closer to take her hand in his.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry that I scared you. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I swear I never meant to, and hope someday you may find it in you to forgive me." he said, and then brought her fingertips to his mouth softly before looking up at the sentinel at her side.

"And I'm sorry for my accusations, ser Falgon. You were right for what you did, and then you further tried to preserve what honour I had left… Thank you for that." Falgon nodded, not saying a word, and then Charle's eyes came back to Claira.

"I wish you every blessing, Claira. And a thousand years of happiness." he said, and she breathed in to strengthen herself before pulling her hand away from him.

"Good bye, Charle." she greeted him.

"Farewell, lady Taugere." he returned, and then left down the stairway, meeting her husband and his sentinel halfway along the great hall where he extended a hand to him.

"Safe journey to you, and your people lord Taugere." Raeghun took his hand solidly, but the burn of his eyes had not yet entirely subsided.

"And to you, lord Bolton." he said, and Charle bowed his head to them both before turning to leave, making his way towards the doors.

"If I never see that man again, it will be a blessing." Berin muttered taking a step closer to Raeghun, and heard the lord utter a subtle sigh.

"Well, I assume you may remedy that opinion, Berin." Raeghun said as his eyes came to his friend, the clear and burning blue revealing what he would be the only one to understand. Berin nodded, and then moved away from his side.

"Lord Charle, if you would not mind, I'll accompany you for a while, scout the road ahead for us before we too, make our departure." he called, and Charle turned back.

"You're welcome to. But the northern roads are often quiet, and free from difficulties." they left the hall together, and the rest of the early morning was spent preparing the horses and the cart for the road back to Mount Ardor, while Claira spent the final few hours with her family and sister by law. Before noon, their column passed under the white gatehouse followed by the skewbald colt and his cart, down the path that would take them home; and only by late afternoon Berin rejoined the company where they found him waiting on the road close to a woodland border.

"What happened to you?" Gavin asked, noticing a long inflamed abrasion along Berin's neck, he wiped at it and laughed.

"My own stupidity. I was so embroiled in conversation with lord Bolton, I didn't notice a very low hanging branch. Damn thing nearly slit my throat." he explained, and then Raeghun looked his way as he came up next to him.

"I trust lord Bolton found his way?" he enquired, and Berin's eyes met his.

"Yes, my lord. We parted ways not too long ago." he confirmed, the glint sharing what words would not.

"Good. Let us hope that the roads favour us all, and bring us safely home." he mentioned as he faced the quiet road, the horses passing to an easy trot over the soft earth. Again their journey followed the same pattern that it has twice before in a peaceful north. The day they passed the grey stone stronghold of the Starks, their Captain of the guard Jory Cassel awaited them with another two guards in attendance to inform them that lord Stark has decided not to proceed with the proposed warding of Jon, but that he might reconsider in another few years. And also, to their delight it had been announced that lady Catelyn was again with child. Raeghun thanked the soldiers for taking the time to meet them with their lords decision, and sent their congratulations on a growing house before resuming their way down the King's Road. Days and nights passed, every sunset fuelling their longing for home, to witness the walls of the burning mountain coming into view at dusk, and to see it blaze in the setting sun. But days came, and days went; each bringing them closer to home before finally entering the gold fields of the Corridor. They kept heading down the path in the dark carrying torches just as the last of twilight faded away, towards a nearby inn where they would stay for the evening, just past the next farmstead. The horses trudged on up the slope, and as they crossed the hill into the next field a furious blaze met them. The farmhouse was aflame, the farmer with his son and workers desperately trying to douse the flames with buckets of water from a nearby well as they rushed between the stones in a panic; but the heat of the fire dispersed the liquid before the next pail could be brought. Two women stood off to one side weeping as they held each other. The horses passed to a gallop down the road to the devastation where Raeghun dismounted and swiftly approached the farmers.

"Is anyone still inside?" he asked, raising his voice over the rumble of the fire and the women rushed to him.

"The children, m'lord. The children was sleeping in the back when the fire broke." One said as she fell at his feet, and looked up with glinting reddened eyes through tears.

"Please help us, m'lord. Please, I beg you." She besought, her hands going to his feet, the desperation of a young mother heedless of considerations. Raeghun looked at the building, and breathed in reaching through his mind for what to do as he took in the intensity.

"How many?" he asked.

"Three, m'lord." She answered without any hesitation.

"Fuck…" he looked over at the farmer, yelling directions to his farm hands.

"Bring me a full pail!" Raeghun shouted, and then turned to others behind him.

"Berin, get the blankets! Falgon, stay with Claira. The rest of you, make sure everyone else is accounted for, and do what you can to help bring down the flames." He ordered, the sentinels already bringing their hands up to remove the cloaks, and then looked at Berin as he came holding three blankets in his hands.

"You and Edur are with me." He assigned, and Berin nodded. Claira's hands went to his chest.

"Please, please don't go." She pleaded, and he took her hands.

"These are my people. I have to." A single farm hand brought a vessel of water to them, which they poured over the blankets, soaking them through and then they draped the wet sheets over them, running towards the devastated building. Flames and black smoke billowed from every window and an already collapsed roof, they stood on either side of the door ringed with fire to draw a last breath before entering into the now glowing furnace. Claira watched in terror, every moment feeling like a day as they waited and the flames grew despite the frantic attempts of the still rushing people joined by their sentinels. A sudden haunting rasp sounded from somewhere amidst the glow, and Claira's hands covered her mouth as the rumble became a long hollow groan and the right side of the farmhouse sank away into embers and smoke to the screams of the women at her side, fire flooded from the arch that was a door not too long ago. She moved forward, calling her husband's name although he'd not be able to hear and a strong hand was laid on her shoulder, before she succumbed to shock and fright, sinking onto the grass as she prayed; prayed to anyone that would listen, old and new. Please, bring him back to me. Only this one thing, I ask of you. Bring him back to me… Flames tore at what was left of the roof, rising up to the sky and she couldn't do anything but watch, but just as her heart started to sink away in the waste of despair, two shadows emerged from the glow, holding small forms against them. Running to a safe distance, Raeghun and Berin lay the boys on the grass as they gasped, wheezed and coughed while the men draped the still wet blankets over them and the women fell down at their sides. Despite the ravage of the smoke to their chest, Raeghun stood and turned to head back just as the final shadow appeared, and the left wall of the home crumbled away. Edur moved forward with the smallest of the children in his arms, something between a run and a stumble, sinking to his knee as the lord reached his side; coughing as the smoke burnt at his throat and lungs.

"Are you al right?" Edur looked up and held out the tiny body.

"Take her… Don't worry… about me… Take the girl…" he breathed through strained gasps, and passed a little bundle with light chestnut coloured hair to the lord; eerily silent and motionless, the skin darkened by smoke and soot. He brought her close, and put his ear to her face before cursing again and moving away to clearer ground, kneeling and lying the little body on the ground facing the sky, and Berin came to him.

"She's not breathing." He tilted the girl's head, and brought his mouth down over hers twice, forcing the withered little lungs to expand before bringing his hands to her chest and pressing; working the unmoving heart. A crying mother ran to them, calling her child's name before Berin's hands took hold of her shoulders to halt her.

"Wait." She stood as he held her, drowning her overwhelmed cries with a hand clasped over her mouth, watching as the liege of the Corridor tried and tried and tried again to bring life back to one that had yet to truly start; but shock and the receding flow of adrenaline ate away at his strength and energy. Again he tried, and again, perhaps twenty times before Berin lowered himself to his knees on the other side of the girl, Raeghun's movements small and inept as the vigour died away. He put a hand to Raeghun's shoulder.

"Raeghun." Berin's green eyes regarded him, still struggling forth.

"I won't give up! I won't! Not yet!" he said, forcing his worn muscles to respond.

"We won't. But rest, I'll take over." Raeghun moved back, allowing his friend to resume the struggle as he sat back and took in a breath, watching as Berin continued the battle for a life. Breathe, press-press-press; breathe, press-press-press; breathe, press-press-press; on he fought perhaps another count of twelve times before a ragged series of coughs and deep breaths moved the little chest, and the girl started to cry as fright and pain came back to her, but the sentinel too her up in his arms and held her, soothing until the terrified cries calmed and the mother came forward with her hands held out.

"Thank you, m'lords. Thank you. No words can pay you for saving my family." She said, clasping the girl against her chest, and Raeghun felt cool arms wrap around him.

"Thank goodness you're al right..." his wife breathed against him, and his hand went to her arms, pressing it against him. The farmhouse was left completely destroyed, naught left but the stones and smouldering ash.

"What do we do now?" the farmer sighed, taking in the devastation.

"Come with us to the inn." Raeghun suggested as he stood, and wrapped his arm around Claira.

"We'll have you lodged for a few days as you start rebuilding your home. I'll send whatever aid I can to you, once we reach Mount Ardor." he said, and the farmer looked back at him, sorrow and gratitude battling for dominance in his stare.

"Your generousness is overwhelming, m'lord. We can't accept that too, with all that you've done." he tried to decline.

"You are my countrymen. Your welfare is one of my responsibilities." Then he turned, making his way back to the horses.

"M'lord..." the farmer tried again.

"I will hear nothing more." Raeghun silenced them, and tried to help Claira back onto her stallion, finding that the strength had left him. He breathed and looked at her.

"It's al right." she whispered, and looked towards Falgon.

"Ser Falgon, if you'd be so kind, please." he stepped forward, and lifted her up; easily seating her on Brazier's saddle and then he looked at Raeghun.

"May I offer you my strength as well, sire?" he asked, and Raeghun chuckled.

"Thank you, ser. I'll be fine." he assured, and moved away to mount his own horse with more than a little bit of effort. The farmers duly gathered what they still could, and followed the party across the next hill to the inn where they stayed for the night; and by morning the Taugere's and their guards departed the inn, leaving enough to sustain the farmers in food and bedding for another four days before they reached the marvel of the sunstone walls around Mount Ardor by late afternoon that day.

Their return to the burning mountain was fierily welcomed, and by morning the lord sent a stone mason from their own hold along with two carpenters from Garde's Post to help in the rebuilding of the destroyed farmstead. The day passed as it normally would, while Claira found herself wondering if the farmers were doing well. Milla accompanied Claira to the kitchen to discuss the evening meal with cook Jeody. The kitchen was engaged as workers cut and cleaned, the stores were fully stocked with barrels of vegetables, baskets of fruit, fresh carcasses of hares, fowl and other manner of creatures hung from hooks in the ice room. Claira discussed the evening's options with Jeody while he headed to a cauldron of fowl boiling on the cookfire. He lifted the lid, and a wave of steam rose into the air, bursting globules sounding off the surface of the brown broth. Suddenly, Milla's hand covered her mouth and she darted from the kitchen through an open door to the garden. Claira stared in shock,

"I'll be right back, Jeody." she said, and he nodded.

"Of course, my lady. I'm not going anywhere." he said, replacing the lid of the cauldron over the pungent stew, and Claira left after her friend into the garden. She found her near the back of the garden among the shrubs lining the balustrade bordering the edge that looked over the Sunset Sea, breathing heavily.

"Milla, are you al right?" she asked concerned, and then she looked up after another deep breath and nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine. I couldn't stand the smell of meat for two weeks now." she said, and Claira's hand went to her arm gently.

"Perhaps you should go see maester Adlyn." she suggested, but Milla shook her head.

"I have." she said, and Claira's eyes searched her face for an answer.

"And what did he say?" she asked.

"He explained that this is normal, and usually doesn't last long." she said.

"Normal for what?" Milla's eyes came to her then, reddened by tears.

"Milla?" both Claira's hands rested on her friend's arms as Milla's hands went to her face to discard escaped tears.

"Claira, I'm with child." she said softly, and Claira stared at her dazed for an instant.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and Milla nodded.

"Maester Adlyn confirmed it." she said, her hands covering her face but Claira's arms went around her as she finally understood why she felt so confused here before leaving, and then the changes suddenly vanished. She wanted it so much, that her own body answered to an alteration that did not belong to her, long before her court maiden realized it.

"I'm so sorry, my lady. I can't help feeling that I've stolen this from you..." she whimpered softly, but Claira smiled.

"No, Milla. This is wonderful news. Does Berin know?" she asked, and Milla shook her head.

"Not yet. I want to tell him on his name day, after tomorrow." she said, and Claira smiled hugging her friend closer.

"What a beautiful gift..." she reflected as they stood together, sharing these few moments. A page appeared on the garden path, a lean young boy of twelve with dark red hair and deep green eyes.

"Excuse me, lady Claira." he called, and she turned to him before he stepped tentatively closer.

"Maester Adlyn asked that I give you this." he informed as he reached out his hand, a parchment curled in his palm. She took it and thanked him, then he left again the way he came. She unrolled the parchment and read the message, again and again up to four times before her mind took in the words written in her brother's hand. Lord Charle Bolton never returned to the Dreadfort, and he never will... She returned to Jeody to approve their selection for supper, and spent the remainder of the day inside her common room, adding the flowers to the basket she started; but her mind wandered the northern fields wondering what happened. The place she'd once known to be peaceful and calm became rigid and overcast with shadows and lurking eyes. After the banquet most of the hold retired to bed, and she found Raeghun in the Hollow alone, reading the same parchment she had to repeat to herself several times earlier this day. Then his eyes came up at her, and he lay the roll down on the table.

"Charle didn't make it back. They found his horse in a field, and a day later his body; eaten by animals. They assume that cut-throats ambushed him, but they were not found." she told, having to say something to his stare, to the burning blue of his eyes.

"I see. But, that really shouldn't concern you, Claira." he said, calm and indifferent; then she felt a sting as the electrical energy of shock rushed through her.

"It wasn't that, was it?" she asked softly, only to the cool blue gaze of his eyes.

"Raeghun, how could you?" she demanded suddenly, trying not to rise her voice.

"He threatened you." he reminded her, and she looked away from him.

"He didn't threaten me..." she tried, clenching her hands.

"Maybe not directly. But he scared you so much, so that your sentinel found a need to carry you back to me. Tell me, what is the penalty of a threat against the lady of Mount Ardor?" he asked, remaining calm and folding his hands on the table; and for that instant he made her think of her own father. Calm, calculating, cold... but this was to the border of cruelty.

"He didn't want to..." she whispered, not wanting to believe what had been done.

"That doesn't matter. When a thief, or a rapist or a murderer insists that they didn't want to commit the crime, that doesn't excuse them from it. The charges remain the same, and so does the judgement. Did you believe that this was something I would cast off?" he asked, and she looked at him again, eyes glinting both enraged and piteous.

"No..." she was torn, shredded between understanding and not wanting to believe.

"Good night." was the only words left for her to say before turning.

"Sleep well, my lady." he returned formally, and she vanished down the hallway. She walked until a shadow halted her, and she looked up into clear green eyes, a once red lesion now little more than a discoloured blemish.

"Was it as easy? Taking a life, than it was to save one?" she asked, and Berin smiled.

"Easier. I fought harder to make her heart start beating, than I did to stop his." he confessed, and she looked away from him.

"I can't believe this..." she muttered, still refusing the outcome.

"People do things, my lady. Sometimes, the wrong things, for the right reasons. It comes down to the answer of a simple question: What will you risk for your family?" There was only one answer...