Chapter 3

The white raven had flapped its wings in the Maester's rookery about two months ago. Following the cue the Northmen had accepted the Southron declaration of change of season, as they had done always. But what did the South know of winter, of real winter? The Starks of Winterfell professed to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, but the North's way was different, had always been.

Wintertown had woken up to fresh snow in the morning, three or so inches deep. Impressive for springtime, but nowhere near enough to scare a Northerner. Men and women had scoffed at the poor show and moved out to duty. Once they were out of the house they were greeted to Wintertown, a town of a thousand scattered houses and guilds, located south east of Winterfell, the ancestral home of House Stark. Gone was the ragtag hamlet that had existed here twenty years ago when the Waywatchers had arrived, the group of Southron reformers who had been banished from their homes. A real 'town' had grown around it as more people came and settled around haphazardly. A visitor from Oldtown or Pentos would gape at the disorder of the town with its mushroom like houses and unplanned streets. But soon enough he'd come to marvel this eccentricity, the order the inhabitants seemed to find in this chaos, the life that existed and ran through the disorganized streets, and most importantly the change this nascent town was pumping into the North and the world as a whole. A new world awaited them all, and the North will lead the way.

A mosaic of chatter ran through the snowy Wintertown streets. More people were moving in everyday, making the chaos ever present. The city order was looked after by the WolfWatch, the small Citywatch of Wintertown banded together by Lord Rickard. They were a bunch of misfits wearing grey hoods and grey cloaks, but organized and supervised well by the Waywatchers. Called the 'Greycloaks' by the commoners, they could be seen dotted all over the town, looking out for trouble and stopping it in the bud.

One such trouble was brewing up near the middle of the town, at the baker's shop near the street's turn. A young yet grizzled woman clad in dirty roughspun attire was having a disagreement with two Greycloaks, while some locals looked on with curiosity.

"What is wrong with you woman," said Ervin the Greycloak. "Were you born yesterday? You can't just take stuff from the shop. You gotta pay for it."

"I am hungry! And he has enough bread to feed a village," said the woman, her willowy figure defiant. "I heard people get what they want in this place."

"Oh yeah," scoffed Emmet the other Greycloak. "It doesn't work that way. Cmon, off you come to the common house.." his arm moved to guide the woman to the 'common house', a building for new refugees.

The woman flinched from the arm. "Touch me and I'll cut your balls off," she hissed with fiery eyes, and Emmet paled. "I want.."

"What do you want, woman," Ervin drawled, who seemed to have had enough. "You want to steal things from the honest people here," he pointed at the affronted breadmaker, "and you don't want to go to common house. I say we don't want you here." Ervin unsheathed his sword. "I say you go back where you came from. You are nothing but trouble."

"NOO," she wailed and jerked away hard from the sword. Her defiance act had vanished the moment the steel was drawn, to reveal a very frightened woman. A little girl had been hiding behind her skirts, and on seeing the sword she came out from behind, glaring at the guard. The woman lifted up the girl, as if to prevent her from doing something. "I can't go outside," she pleaded. "Please! There are those men there."

"What men," asked Ervin.

"Then go to the common house," said Emmet, his voice soft after seeing the girl.

"There...there are people there as well," the woman was close to tears. "I can't go..."

"What is going on here," a voice came from behind and cut through everything, cool and firm. Everyone turned their heads. the Greycloaks, the woman, and all the others, to look towards the source.

A tall young Lady on horseback was looking at them from the street's turn. Two other horsemen stood there flanking her. One was dressed in a homely garb while other was dressed much more handsomely, both members of the Waywatchers. The Lady was clad in grey as well, long grey doublet and woolen riding breaches. A heavy fur cloak rested on her shoulders, held by a brooch emblazoned with a snarling direwolf, the sigil of the overlords. Instantly everyone's heads bowed down, except for the woman who was still clutching the child.

"Lady Lyanna," everyone chorused.

"Stay here," Lya said to Horas and Damen on her sides. She dismounted and walked forward, taking note of the scene in front of her. A frightened woman and child, a bunch of curious watchers, an angry baker, and two armed watchmen, one with an unsheathed sword. Her gaze stayed on the armed man. "Care to tell me what you are doing," she asked.

"Ervin at your service, m'lady," the watchman said and bowed his head. "We heard of some trouble here. This woman was trying to snatch bread and pies from the cook here. We were just dealing with her."

"Dealing with her how," she pointed at his unsheathed weapon. "Since when has the Wolfwatch started to threaten defenseless women with swords?"

He flushed. "Pardon, m'lady, but the woman, she was stealing. She is stubborn, and insolent..."

Lya gestured him to be quiet. Her gaze turned to the woman. She appeared to be the same age as Lya, but her face looked old beyond her age. A child was clutched at her bosom, a frail girl of five or six. Her blonde hair were tied into a single braid like the woman's own blonde braid, and Lya's brown one. The fear in her eyes troubled Lya.

"Is this your child," she asked the woman, keeping her voice firm yet gentle.

"She's my sister, lady," the woman uttered, tears swimming in her grey eyes. Northern eyes. "Do you have a name," Lya asked.

"I am called Dalla, lady," she said.

Lya moved closer. She could almost hear Horas protesting from behind, but Lya moved anyway. Dalla and the child were looking at her with wariness. "And what is her name," she gestured towards the girl.

"Val," the girl said, timid as a mouse. "I am called Val, lady."

Lya smiled at Val. "Where do you both come from," she asked.

The woman hesitated. "North of here. The..mountains."

Hill tribes, again. "Why did you not follow the Watchmen to the common house?"

"I ...can't go there," Dalla said. She was frightened, her face hiding a thousand insecurities.

"Why not," asked Lya.

"Too many...," the woman struggled to answer. "Too crowded..I..I can't.."

Lya took a decision. "Come with me then," she said.

Dalla looked at her in puzzlement. "Lady?"

"Come with me," Lya repeated. "We have promised refuge to all who come here. You came here seeking safety didn't you?" With care she offered her leather clad hand to Dalla, which she took hesitantly. Some of the fear fled Dalla's eyes, and the swimming tears were allowed to run down. "Go back to your work," Lya roughed up her voice and called out to everyone. "She is under my protection." Everyone bowed their head and went back to work.

They walked to the street turn, Dalla keeping up with her with nimble steps. "Tell me truly," Lya said. "Are you running from someone?"

Dalla didn't answer. "I won't be able to help you unless you answer me," Lya pushed.

Dalla gulped. With care she placed Val back on the ground, taking hold of one of her hands. "We were coming to this place. I had heard in...my village that you get food and shelter here. On the way..," Dalla was frightened again. She glanced nervously at Val, who was looking back at them with hollow eyes.

A child shouldn't have that look on her face. "Damen," Lya called her faithful companion. "Take Val and buy her some sweet from the baker's, the very best one. Make sure she isn't hungry." Damen dismounted and walked up to them. Gingerly he offered a hand to Val.

"No," Dalla raised alarm and started moving back to clutch her sister.

"It is fine," Lya assured the woman. "He will pay for it. She is safe now. You both are safe now! I promise you, on my honor." Dalla was still defiant. "Damen is one of the finest men I know," she added. "He is kind and good, and is sworn to my family. He is taking her to the baker right there," she pointed towards the shop from where Dalla had tried to steal. "They won't be out of sight."

"I will keep her safe I promise," Damen smiled his best smile. The compliments Lya had given him had made him blush. "On my honor as a Waywatcher. We live to serve the realm."

When Dalla relented Damen took Val's hand gently and walked her towards the Baker's. The child was hungry despite everything and she went with him. When they were safely away Lya gestured Dalla to sit on a nearby empty bench. "Go on," Lya said kindly, dreading what she was about to hear.

Dalla's lips were pressed tight. "We were following the road," she said. "We didn't find a roof and were caught out in the open at night, so we thought of resting near the Wolfswood. What choice did we have? But there were some m..men, they found us. We..were taken. They didn't steal me! We were just taken! They picked us up like sheep and carried us to the forests. They….took me,"

Lya's throat went dry. More tears appeared in the Dalla's eyes. "They took me and m..made her watch," she recalled in anguish. "She screamed and cried...as I did. I don't think she even understood what was happening. I saw her face, how scared she was. But I couldn't ...help her." Dalla hid her face under her palms. "They were planning to keep us with them," she said. "They wanted to...wait till she grows up and keep her with them, and me. We.. were there for two nights," Dalla seemed to have run out of words.

"You escaped," Lya finished the horror for Dalla but Dalla was past caring. Her face was still buried in her palms, refusing to show or look up at anyone. It was a pitiful sight, and without thinking Lya pulled Dalla into an embrace. And just like that the Lady Lyanna was embracing a common peasant out in the open. Many stared, but Lya paid them no mind. "I don't care how, but you escaped. It is all behind you," Lya consoled. Dalla's clothes smelled awful, and her tears were soaking Lya's cloak and doublet, but Lya held on to her. "You are safe now," Lya whispered into her ear. "No one will harm you now Dalla. I promise." In response Dalla flung her arms around Lya and hugged her even tighter, and Lya was again assaulted by the awful stench of Dalla's clothes, but she let Dalla hold her.

"Where did this happen," Lya asked when Dalla had pulled away.

"S..some leagues to the north west," she sniffed, rubbing her red eyes.

Lya bristled. How did this happen so close to us? What have the Watchers been doing? "I will talk to my father, and have men sent there. Justice will be done." said Lya. Dalla didn't say anything, she just gave her a grateful look.

Damen returned with Val soon. The child was munching hungrily at a pastry and her lips were caked with red filling. The sight was so silly, silly and refreshing. "This is for you woman," Damen produced some bread and gave it to Dalla. She took it hungrily and devoured it in a few bites, crumbs flying around on the street.

"Thank you Damen," Lya addressed her companion. "I want to trouble you with two more tasks."

"Name them my lady," Damen said eagerly, clasping an arm across his doublet emblazoned with the white wolf, the symbol of the Waywatchers.

"Find a horse, a gentle one, for our guests; then go to the common house and fetch Maggy."

"The septa, my lady?"

Not a septa anymore. A Waywatcher. "Aye fetch her. She had left for the common house in the morning. I want her here now."

Lya felt Horas's eyes watching her. She turned to Dalla. "You..you can't just take things from people. You aren't among the hilltribes anymore. In Wintertown we trade things. If you want something you need to give something for it."

"But I don't have anything," Dalla said.

"Everyone has something," said Lya. "Most people around you, they had little when they came. But they worked here and earned their keep. And today they are content and are growing stronger everyday. People here are stonemasons, farmers, blacksmiths, maesters, cooks, even artists and scholars from the South and the East. They trade their skills and wares for their necessities." Lya paused. "Do you have any skill Dalla?"

Dalla was afraid again. "I..I can sing well, Lady," she said.

Lya gave her an encouraging look. "That can work. How good are you?"

"I was the best in my village, lady." Dalla all but proclaimed, and some of the color returned to her face. Lya felt herself smile widely.

"I can see that," said Lya. "Your voice does have a certain..melody to it." A shy smile bloomed on Dalla's face. "We are having a feast tonight," Lya added. "Many lords have come to Winterfell to celebrate the arrival of spring, and for other duller things. If you want, I can arrange for you to sing in front of the Lords."

Dalla's eyes widened. "The Lords?"

"And Ladies," Lya said, "and Children, and the other people as well. I also would love to hear you sing. If you do well then you can earn your keep easily. We always have had very few singers in Winterfell."

"I...will think on it, lady," said Dalla. Lya heard horse hooves from her side. Damen had returned with a lone horse and Maggy riding beside him. She was a hard lean woman of five and twenty, twice widowed, once a septa in the South, and now serving Winterfell as a Waywatcher. Damen must have filled her in about the situation. "Lady Stark," Maggy called from her horse in all her swagger. "Missing me already?"

"Keeping you away is hard Maggy," Lya replied back. "You are such a resourceful person."

"How may I serve?"

"Dalla and Val here are under my protection." Lya gestured towards them. "Escort them to the Servant's Keep. Help them get freshened up and introduce them to the other women, the kind ones, not the mean ones. Some new clothes would be good."

"Sure," said Maggy. "It is not as if I have better things to do."

"Much appreciated," said Lya with a smile. She turned to Dalla. "Go with Maggy. She may appear rude, but she has a heart of gold."

"Why thank you Lady Stark," Maggy scoffed as Dalla and Val were mounting their horse. "Come on love. Off you come with the rude woman."

"With a heart of gold remember," Lya called back with a chuckle. "Damen go with them," she told her companion. "Some people in the Keep may need some persuading. Tell them who sent Dalla to the castle." Damen nodded and left with them.

Dalla gave Lya one last look before riding off to Winterfell, her eyes grateful and trusting as a doe. Lya's eyes left them only when they rounded the street's turn. She sat down on the bench when they were no longer in sight, her gaze lowered at the unpaved street.

From the corner of her eye Lya saw Horas dismounting and approaching her with measured steps. He sat down beside her. "That was a good thing you did," he spoke, "but just a warning Lya. We can't take too many smallfolk inside the castle. Everyone will want in if it goes like this. Lord Stark may also not like it. We are full already."

Lya bristled with anger as she looked at Horas. "Don't you think I know that," she said. "What would you have had me do? You heard what happened to her. She was scared half to death of staying in a place crowded with men."

Horas didn't speak more about it. "You still want to go," he asked instead. That was when she remembered the reason she had come out in Wintertown, the same reason she used to come here once every month. Her spirits fell, but Lya stood up. "Let's go," she said, choosing to be brave.

Horas helped her mount her horse and she thanked him for it. It was very easy for him given his tall stature. Horas was the son of Master Addam, the head of the Waywatchers, one of those who had come from the South twenty years ago. Lya's older brothers were mostly away and Benjen was too young; and in their place Horas had been Lya's constant companion and a trusted friend, for as long as she could remember. They were both thirteen when autumn had ended and had been of the same height. Everyone thought that Horas would remain short like his father. But winter saw him grow tall, taller than all the boys in Wintefell, even Brandon. Now he stood six feet and four inches tall, a little more than half a foot taller than Lya.

Together they made their way to their destination. "This has been an eventful morning hasn't it," Horas tried to lighten the mood. "Breaking fast with the whole grumpy nobility of the North, all buzzing away angrily, and now this."

"You don't know the half of it," Lya said. It had been eventful indeed, not that Horas would know what she had in mind. Lya had dreamed again last night, the same vision-like dreams that showed her fantastical things, that always jolted her awake with fear, and tingling excitement. Bleeding stars, Ice and Fire mingling, a kiss by the lakeside, NO! Lya pushed the visions aside. She had decided that she wouldn't think about them, no matter how frequently they come, no matter how hard it becomes.

"I do know things, you know," said Horas, his handsome face playful. "I did see Roose Bolton making eyes at you at breakfast. That was quiet unappetizing to watch." He snorted.

"He wasn't making eyes at me!" Lya exclaimed loudly, and suddenly she forgot about her woes. She smiled at Horas. "That is just how he talks to everyone! I think he is uptight."

"I doubt it," said Horas. "Believe it or not, but he gives me the creeps. You must know that his lordship asked for your hand in marriage yesterday, in exchange for Dreadfort adopting the North's Way. That didn't go anywhere, obviously."

"I do," Lya nodded. "But from what I saw he was civil enough about it. Had it been an Umber in his place then he'd have flung things and shouted hoarse for hours." Lya remembered the huge boisterous Jon Umber. "It might be quite amusing actually, except that it'd be us who would have to clean after him."

"Hah," Horas smirked. "But Bolton had to be civil. Who wouldn't be? When your rival is Robert Baratheon the wise thing to do is to smile and bow out," Horas chuckled, and Lya smile faltered. "He fell in line soon enough, Father told me. Nothing to worry on that matter."

"You concern for me is touching," Lya teased and he made a face. She knew Horas was trying to distract her, and she was grateful for it. They rounded another corner, moving past factories where Northern goods sourced from all over the North were being loaded in carts, to be deported to White Harbor for shipping.

"Boltons and Starks have married in the past," Lya chose to keep talking. "So the proposal wasn't as...outrageous, as many seem to believe. This isn't the Age of Heroes." They were nearing their destination, which was making Lya more uneasy. Talking with Horas wasn't doing enough to distract her from the dread, and the shame.

Horas looked at her oddly. "But a Bolton marriage proposal can't even compare to an alliance with Storm's End. Also, Lord Creepiness has a son, from his first wife."

"True," Lya replied. "He has to adopt the Way some day, or the peasants will keep fleeing the Bolton lands." Finally their destination came into view, a strong stone and brick house built on Lya's orders, to house a family of four. Once five, Lya remembered, and shame bubbled up once again. Her shaking hands tightened around the reins. She looked at Horas, whose square jaw was stiff as he looked ahead. He feels bad too, despite it not being his doing.

The onlookers' gaze was on them when she knocked on the thin plank door. "Who's there," a woman's alarmed voice came from inside.

"It's Lyanna," Lya almost whispered.

Some shuffling, clattering of utensils, and the door opened. Uma's mousy hair had loosened from her braid and were sticking out. Her face was unnerved, as it always was whenever Lya visited her.

"M'lady," the much older woman stuttered and bowed her head; Lya felt shame rushing up her throat.

"How..how are you," Lya asked.

"I am good. The Gods are good," she said. "My boys are stronger than ever. Thank you for everything m'lady."

"You don't need to thank me," Lya said. "How ...how is Alyn?" Uma and Alyn were man and wife, married with two children, boys of seven and nine. Lya couldn't recall their names. That made her even sadder, but she kept a straight face.

"He..his legs still hurt, m'lady," Uma said. "But he is strong. He is out helping in the fields."

"That is good," Lya said. "And how is Mel?" Mel was Uma's younger sister, a woman of seventeen, eight years junior to Uma.

"She is happy. Her husband treats her well."

"If you need anything, I am always here for you," Lya said, like she always used to say whenever she visited. She reached in one of her pockets, and produced a small pouch, containing two silver stags. "This is for you," she offered the pouch to Uma.

Uma's mouth opened and closed. With shaking hands she took the pouch. "Thank you m'lady," she said, and bowed.

It was all Lya could do to not scream. Must you always shame me woman? I ruined your life. You don't get to bow to me! Lya rushed back to her horse, Horas following in earnest.

The journey back was a blur for Lya. She rode in silence. Horas gave her sideways glance at times, but apart from that he chose to stay quiet. They were halfway back to the castle when he finally spoke.

"You don't need to come here Lya," he said. "From now on just send me, or some other person. Damen is always eager to please, send him instead."

Lya looked at Horas. "I am a Northerner Horas," she replied. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"This isn't an execution."

"No it isn't, I know," Lya retorted. "Don't you understand? The saying isn't about executions. It is about something more, about not hiding from yourself and your deeds, knowing and having the courage to face the results, no matter what. That is the Northern way. The Stark way." Their ride came to a halt. An apple merchant had toppled his basket in the way ahead and his stock had spilled all over the street. They both stopped to not trample them while he picked them up. "What I did four years ago.."

"You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault Lya," Horas interrupted her.

"What I did," Lya pushed, "costed that family so much. If I don't face my deeds and just forget them then I am no better than a perfumed Southerner. I must remember that, and what I did to them. I must!"

"You weren't alone Lyanna," Horas said. "I was there too. You can't judge yourself guilty forever. You don't need to...be sad always."

"What, are you saying I need to smile more? " Lya scoffed with a bitter taste in her mouth. "Do you know, Robert Baratheon beds whores. He has been at it since the day he became a man. He already has a bastard daughter, begotten from one of his brothel women. Ned knows it, even father knows it! Yet they are pushing the match on me all the same." Horas was stunned to silence. The apple seller was still picking up his apples, throwing apologetic glances and nervous grins at them. "Some say that it is for the better. A man should know his way around in the marriage bed they say." Lya almost spat. "He might be fucking away in a brothel even now as we speak. Makes me sick!"

"He might change once you get married."

"Ned said the same thing," said Lya. "He said that Robert is already half in love with you. All he knows of me is that I please his eyes, and he says he loves me!"

"You can reject it."

"Can I," Lya threw back. "You said so yourself. House Stark needs the support of the Stormlands."

"You need happiness in your life Lya."

"Look around you Horas," Lya said. "Look at Dalla and her sister, think of Uma and her family, her husband and good brother, what happened to them. Those people work hard everyday to make ends meet. For them happiness is a full stomach and a warm bed, and protection from tyrant lords, something we take for granted. There's still a chance that Robert would turn good after we wed, and if not," Lya hesitated, "then I wouldn't be the first woman who isn't happily married. It will be for the good of everyone."

"Lya..."

She didn't listen to him. The path had been cleared so she rushed forward, eager to end the conversation. Memories appeared in front of her eyes. Clubs beating down. Women screaming, children crying. Lya shook her head. She kept riding, her gaze stiffly on the way ahead.

Lya went past the gates of Winterfell and headed for the stables. Many lords and nobles turned towards her in anticipation of a greeting, but Lya rushed past them. When she was finally in her chamber she threw off the heavy grey cloak and the Stark brooch and fell backwards on her bed. It is time to shrug this off, she told herself, I am expected downstairs in an hour. She could go to the armory and practice her incipient sword skills with Horas or the other Waywatchers. She could go to the tourney grounds to ride freely; that always made made her feel truly alive. She could even go and watch the other women knit clothes, and even practice some with them. But her legs refused to move, so down she stayed.

Lya pushed the memories, but her stupid mind went from one unsettling thing to the other one. Ice and fire meeting, Ice and fire fighting, kiss by the lakeside, battle by the riverside, a baby born in storm, another in the sun. NO! Lya shouted out loud. I won't think of this. I can't.

Lya had long ago made peace with the fact that she wouldn't marry for love. It'd be a political match, to further the interests of her family. Yet out of all the young lords of Westeros she was set up with Robert fucking Baratheon, and was told of it weeks after after it was finalised, on a cold sleety day in the third year of winter when Ned had visited from the Vale with some Eastern tradesmen. She had hated her father and brother that day, and might have hurt them or worse had Brandon not stopped her. Was it too much to ask for a good man as a husband, even if she was living a far better life than most people on the world, warm and content? Like every little girl she also had once dreamed of a handsome charming man who'd take her far away once day and they'd live happily in a beautiful castle. The dream had faded with age but the desire had remained her even after all the things that had happened. The desire for a faithful companion, and a happy life.

The only dreams that remained with her and visited her often, also seemed to agree with her, in their own different way. They were grand, fantastical, seductive. They were hardly comprehensible, but one message screamed at her right through their inexplicity. You are not meant for a regular life of marrying and furthering interests, they seemed to say. There are far bigger things in the world than you know, beyond the comprehension of the common men and women. You are and have always been, meant for the greater things.

"My lords," Lord Rickard Stark stood up from his seat at the the centre of the concave table on the dais. "My ladies! Waywatchers, merchants, scholars, servants," he addressed them all. "Before we begin this splendid spring feast and lose our senses to good food and ale, there are some thing we need to know and get past."

The hall was lit with all the candles in Winterfell. The Northern banners adorned the wall behind the dais. The grey direwolf of Stark was highest of them all. Below it came the Houses who had come to accept and implement the North's way, then all the rest. Maester Walys had protested against this segregation, but Lord Rickard had listened to the advice of Master Addam of the Waywatchers instead. Master and Maester, they both hold much sway here.

Lya watched as every head in front of her turned towards her father, eagerness clear in their eyes. Everyone wanted to know what was discussed in the last two days amongst the Lords and the Waywatchers. Everything had all been garbed in black secrecy, and now it was the moment of reveal. Also, Lord Rickard Stark was a popular lord and a splendid speaker. Whenever he spoke everyone listened.

"When autumn had ended four years ago," said father, his voice amicable, "the North's way had been strong, thanks to our friends of Waywatchers here." Father pointed towards them on the table, "It took into its fold many people and enabled them to become better, and in the process made our beloved Kingdom stronger, and also the Starks very rich." People laughed at the remark, and father laughed with them. "Many noble houses helped us Starks in these endeavors. First came Lord Manderly, bless him. He helped us make pacts with the Free Cities and the Vale, to help us sell our things there! Then Lord Flint, Lord Cerwyn, the Late Lord Hornwood and the Late Lord Tallhart of Torrhen's Square. But that was a long time ago," Father smiled,"and if one is honest to himself then the passing time always brings progress. I am pleased to announce that in the past two days our family has grown. First, House Ryswell of the Rills has accepted the North's Way."

A round of cheer went through the hall and Lord Ryswell beamed from his seat. "You all know what that means my friends," said father. "Lots of horses will be sent to Wintertown, so get ready to shovel some dung." Laughter rippled through the hall again.

"Next, we have the House Glover of Deepwood Motte, who have accepted our ways. They will be getting supplies and advisers from Wintertown, to set up trade and to improve farming. They'll soon grow richer and abler, a valuable member of our family. The people of Deepwood Motte can be very rich! They have iron and ore to give to the world, and not to mention, the brew of Deepwood Motte is strong and deep, hope the world is ready for it!"

Another cheer erupted from the Hall. "And lastly," said Lord Rickard. "My kin at Karhold, they have decided to come into the fold as well!"

So House Dustin and House Bolton remain out even this time then, Lya noted. Also, House Ryswell had joined and the Boltons had refused. Had Father managed to break their long held alliance? She turned to look at Roose Bolton. His lips were curled into a thin smile as he was watching her father with his pale white eyes.

"House Karstark will be provided silver to build a better port, so they can trade better. Sun of Winter will grow stronger, and the North with it!"

People cheered again. Lya looked at Roose again, and found that he had been looking at her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back in a way that made Lya uneasy. Horas was right. That man is creepy. Was Roose Bolton really after her hand in marriage, in exchange for coming into the fold?

"And finally," said Lord Rickard. "A different news, from the South! This morning I received a raven from Harrenhal. Lord Walter Whent there is to organize a great tourney in two months. So better start preparing if you want to go. Maester Walys will provide more details on that regard." Another cheer arose, followed by frenzied gossip.

"So," said Lord Rickard. "Now that we are done with this busy work, it is time for some softer activities. We Northerners are always short of singers, having to resort to our own bawdy roarings while being in our cups." Laughter ensued again. "Luckily today, my daughter has found and welcomed to my castle, a singer."

The side door opened, and in walked Dalla. A bath and grooming had done wonders on her, and now she looked very nice. The fears and insecurities seemed to have been tucked behind, making her look wise, wiser than most.

"Dalla here, has a voice sweeter than the honeyed wine from the Reach," father announced. "Listen to her carefully friends, and marvel at the beautiful thing that life is."

Lya looked at the audience. There was Val sitting with other children at the front. While many had anticipative looks on their faces, some looked disappointed. They wanted to hear 'Bear and the Maiden Fair' from a man, and to chorus loudly alongwith him. Lya looked at Dalla. Her nervous eyes were already looking for Lya on the dais. Lya rose from her seat to let her know where she was. She gave her an approving nod and Dalla's nervousness faltered, and she closed her eyes to sing.

Oh, I am the last of the giants,

Lya's eyes widened, so did everyone else's. That voice, it was so pure, so haunting, so...wounded. Now Dalla had everyone's attention. Many leaned forward and walked to reach the dais to get a better listen. Dalla sang further,

Oh, I am the last of the giants,

my people are gone from the earth.

The last of the great mountain giants,

who ruled all the world at my birth.

The smallfolk have stolen my forests,

they've stolen my rivers and hills.

They've built a great wall through my valleys,

and fished all the fish from my rills.

In stone halls they burn their great fires,

in stone halls they forge their sharp spears.

Whilst I walk alone in the mountains,

with no true companion but tears.

They hunt me with dogs in the daylight,

they hunt me with torches by night.

For men who are small, they can never stand tall,

whilst giants still walk in the light.

Ooooh, I am the LAST of the giants,

so learn well the words of my song.

For when I am gone all the singing will fade,

and the silence shall last long and long.

The song ended, but no one wanted it to. People were leaning dangerously forward, wanting to get more of the angelic voice. Lya was grounded to the spot, with tears in her eyes.

Dalla opened her eyes, and gave a shy miniature bow to the audience. The first one to react was her father. He rose from his seat and broke into a loud applause. Then the Lords and Waywatchers, and then all the rest. They rose from their seat and clapped loudly. Many cheered, but some were too numb to utter a sound.

Lya saw Dalla rushing out of the door. Lya took her leave and followed her.

"Where are you going," she called from behind. Dalla turned to face her.

"My work is done, lady," she said with a choked voice, but she was smiling.

"We still have the feast, remember? Do you mean to sleep hungry?"

"Lady..."

"No one sleeps hungry in Wintertown," Lya said. "Now come. I will seat you with some good friends of mine."

Lya had a satisfied look on her tired face as she turned in for the night. The day had ended on a very good note. Dalla had earned her place as a singer and had been assigned a room. She can be happy again. Father had already sent men to catch the rapers, or purge the area of wrong doers at the very least. Lya's promise was fulfiled. If there was hope for Dalla, perhaps there was hope for others as well, for the refugees who were coming to the town, and the rest, even her in finding happiness after marriage. With this thought she drifted off to sleep.

The happy thoughts didn't follow her in her sleep. The dreams returned and found her as the night grew deep, pulling her mind away from her home and cozy bed, separating her from her earthly surroundings. An ice flake burned and mingled in with the raging Fire. A tall silver man kissed a woman by the lakeside. Dragons flew above a city, spewing hot fire everywhere. A white wall buckled under a storm from the North. Wintertown frozen in a long winter. A single black dragon plotting to burn the realm in red fire, and another black one trying to tame it from the West. The red dragon turned to look at her knowingly, and then he began to change. It twisted and changed into a human form, with fair skin, white hair and violet eyes. He was beautiful, looking at her with eyes full of love. The man faded away, to reveal new images. Suddenly she was flying, hurtling towards the North, beyond the Wall, far away from the realms of men into the Land of Always Winter. What she saw there made her scream and jolt violently.

Lyanna woke up with cold sweat on her brow.

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