"Interesting, isn't she?" Lord Baelish asked. Sansa spared him a glace before returning her eyes back to the courtyard. Two women were sparring and with real swords at that.

"No," Stark responded.

"You don't think she might be a spy, an assassin?" the man asked, raising a brow. Lady Stark didn't answer, just given him another cold stare.

"Most wise of you," Petyr smiled. "But I'm afraid all I know is that she was spotted in Barrowtown and Cerwyn. You'd think a young, ashen-haired woman travelling alone would make an impression."

"Is that all you could find, Lord Baelish?"

"I'm afraid that is all there is to this woman."

"It's not," stated Lady Sansa.

"Able with a sword, yet her fighting style isn't something I recognize."

"You don't, Lord Baelish?" Sana asked. If not for a glint in her eyes and not for the faint smile in the corner of her mouth, no one would be able to guess the mocking in her words.

"I am not a fighter, my lady," Lord Baelish humbly admitted, "but I do have eyes."

Lady Sansa watched the two women closely now. What was there that she couldn't see? What did Lord Baelish see that she missed? She knew little to nothing about the art of swordplay. All she could point is her speed. Cirilla wasn't moving like Brienne, she was quicker. She was lighter on her feet. Sansa noticed the lack of heavy armor on the witcheress. She didn't strike as often as the Tarth woman, but when she did it was precise and lethal. If they weren't fighting in good spirits, Sansa was seriously doubting Lady Brienne's victory. And like the echo, Lord Petyr's word sounded in her head. Interesting, isn't she? Perhaps, sensing her doubts, Lord Baelish spoke up again:

"Do you consider it wise to let her stay here?"

"Do you doubt my brother's decision, Lord Baelish?"

"Your brother tends to trust people more than any man in his position has the luxury to," Lord Baelish corrected himself. But Sansa knew how careful he could be with words. He could mince and trade them to fit his agenda.

"If she was sent to kill you or the King in the North, what a better way to do it but to gain trust?" said Petyr Baelish.

She took off her gloves, throwing another look at Lord Baelish. The man could sell his words to anyone, even most distrusting people, but she had to admit there was some truth in those minced words of his.

It will soon be sundown, Ciri thought, observing the shadows softening and growing. Brienne fought like a beast, Ciri had to admit. But Ciri knew how to slay beasts. And an excellent sparring partner. There were only two issues. One being the man Cirilla spotted in the corners, watching them. Tormund Gaintsbane is the name. The other issue was a man who walked like a shadow. He was talking with Lady Stark not so long ago, but she was gone now. But he remained there. And the witcheress knew when she was being watched. Cirilla was ready to defiantly meet the man's curious gaze set on her.

"His name is Lord Petyr Baelish," Brienne of Tarth said quietly. "Littlefinger."

"I don't like him," the witcheress replied.

"You shouldn't."

"Who is he?"

"A dangerous and treacherous man."

Ciri could agree with this much. Lord Baelish's prying eyes were sending chills down her spine.

"My lady," said Podrick, coming to them. Brienne shot him a warning stare. He apologetically smiled. It was now time for his training. He was instructed to observe their fight, and Ciri was curious about what he saw. But she won't ask. Though, it amused her how shy the young man would be around any woman except for Lady of Tarth.

"Hello Pod," Ciri said with a smile.

"M'lady," he said with a bow.

No one bowed to her here. She was some woman with a sword, who spoke too much of herself, knew nothing of Westeros, served no one and was coming from nowhere. But Podrick always bowed to her. Brienne said it's because one thing was obvious about Ciri is her noble birth. Anyone who was born in a noble house could see, anyone who served a member of a noble family directly could see it.

"Show what you are made of, Pod," Cirilla said cheerily. It was now her time to receive a warning look from Brienne. Ciri smiled widely and innocently, shrugging the blame.

"I-I'll do my best, m'lady," Payne said, confused and embarrassed.

"I'll leave you to it then," she said with a wave of her hand.

The days were surely getting shorter. And it was happening unnaturally fast. Bad omens. Ciri was sitting on the rails overlooking the courtyard. A step. Another one. Light and gentle yet quick. Hurried even. A woman. Cirilla turned her head to see Lady Sansa, stopping in her track upon being discovered.

"Lady Sansa," Ciri politely bowed with her head.

"Lady Ciri," the woman replied. "Surprising to see you out here," he tone even, ever-so-slightly accusing.

"Why?"

"It's cold and dark outside."

"So it seems. Isn't it dark and cold for you too?" the witcheress raised a brow. The woman's expression didn't fault her emotions. It's the almost unnoticeable half-asleep back of hers that did it. Almost unnoticeable under her dress, her proud stature compensated for it. But Ciri could see the slight change in the shadow of Lady Stark.

"Can I ask you a question?" Lady Stark asked, compensating for her mistake and stepping closer now.

"Ah, sure," Ciri nonchalantly agreed.

"Why come North?"

Lady Sansa's question was simple and reasonable. But her eyes were piercing and distrusting. Cirilla drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly. It is exhausting to have to prove yourself to those stubborn people. It was exhausting to answer the same question.

"To fight against the Army of the dead," she answered, exasperated. There was a semblance of a smile on Stark's face.

"Pardon me, you sounded just like my brother," Sansa said, with the same faint smile. "Is that all?"

"That is all," the witcheress confirmed. "M'lady," she hastily added in forgetfulness.

"You've seen the dead?" Sansa asked, standing right beside another woman.

With a good push, she can send me flying, Ciri thought.

"I have."

"You don't owe North anything. You pledged no loyalty and serve no northern house, Lady Ciri."

"Do I have to? To fight for the living?"

"No," Lady Stark answered sincerely. "But don't expect us to trust you then."

"Us?"

Sansa smiled bitterly and walked away. Ciri watched her leave, sighing. She could count those who didn't belong to the North on her fingers. But as Lady Sansa took her leave, someone else followed her careful steps. The man who walked like a shadow. Cirilla smirked, putting the pieces together.

"Pardon me, my lord," she said, getting off the rails. She jumped right in front of Petyr Baelish who didn't appear startled at all. His eyes were laughing. He looked more like a satisfied cat. If it couldn't get the bird, it would get a mouse then.

"Lady Ciri," he said with a smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"I believe we were not formally introduced."

"Ah, forgive me, Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale," he said. His smile was poisonous, his eyes still laughing.

"I do not know where that is," Ciri shrugged. That was no lie, she could barely remember what was where in Westeros. Ser Davos did her a service to tell about this land, but, without a map, it was all loose knowledge attached to nothing. The man laughed; his eyes didn't.

"I have heard about you, Lady Ciri," the man said with the same poisonous smile.

"Did you now?"

"Yes," he nodded, "you'd be surprised how these walls talk."

"What do they say?" Cirilla asked, crossing her arms.

Stephan Skellen, is that your filthy shadow stalking me through time and space?

"They say you came from afar," the man answered. His hand coming behind his back. A rather welcoming gesture yet so deceiving. The witcheress moved out of his way, curious if he would find a way out of this situation now that she gave him the way.

"They do not lie, those walls," the woman confirmed, resting her back against a cold wall.

"May I ask where you are from?" Baelish asked. His laughing eyes surveying everything at once.

"As the walls said, from afar."

"Braavos then?" he asked. He sounded almost hopeful to Cirilla. He was making a guess. She'd have to remember to ask about Braavos someone who might now. Someone who had sailed across seas.

"Think further, m'lord," she answered with a smile. Lord Baelish smiled in return. Same polite and poisonous smile. Ciri didn't like him even more so now. Those laughing eyes and poisonous smiles and careful words. And predator-like behaviours. Laughing eyes darted across space, where Lady Sansa seemed to be headed. Something in him changed for a brief second, but Ciri could not place what exactly happened.

"It is late, m'lady, you and I both deserve our rest for tonight," Petyr said with a polite bow. Ciri smiled, tight-lipped. Her eyes laughing this time. Baelish left the same way he came: walking like a shadow. Ciri watched him walk away, disappearing among the shadow and darkness, where she guessed the man felt too comfortable.

"You've met Lord Baelish," said Lady Stark, emerging from a dark passageway.

"Pleasant man."

"Many would disagree with you," a slight smirk on her face.

"And you?" the witcheress asked. The expression on Lady Sansa's face came to the same cold and ungiving one. Her blue eyes are deep pools like a frozen lake. On the surface they are unfeeling, emotionless, frozen over. Yet Ciri had no doubt that underneath that cold were moving waters. They shared a silence only two women can share. A mutual understanding of another man's nature of the unpleasant kind.

"You didn't have to stop him," she said empathetically.

"He's a creep," Cirilla protested gently. Sansa didn't agree or disagree, just looked away for a moment. But then her eyes came back to Ciri. And Ciri knew when someone was looking at her scar. Their eyes met for a moment, speaking of nothing. Lady Sansa half-bowed to her and left. Her hair catching the soft light of the burning torches along her path. She could not be hidden by the shadows like the man who stalked her.

She dreamt of cold dark corridors. Blue torches barely illuminated the way for her. With one of the burning torches from the wall, she walked among cold stone walls. Space is empty, yet her steps didn't echo. Almost as if she was walking on freshly fallen snow. A turn, another, and then one more. But it didn't matter where she turned, she never arrived anywhere. It's an endless labyrinth in cold and darkness. Perhaps this was death. It smelled like death and dust in here. Wherever she was, she felt no fear in here, and that may be wrong. She stepped on a rusted sword, forgotten. As the further she walked, the less light was offered to her. Blue-lit torch flickering, its fire dying. Yet there was no other option but to walk further and further into pitch blackness. Her guiding light finally dying out. And when the darkness finally swallowed her whole, she heard the stone break. Again, and again and again. The torches along the walls lit up with intense blue fires. And the terror came with it.

In the morning, beside her doorway, Ciri found someone she never thought she would. A little girl, waiting, crouched on the floor, waiting. She was one of the girls in sword-training if her eyes were not deceiving.

"What are you doing here?" the witcheress asked, surprised and disturbed. The girl looked u at her, anger obvious on her face.

"Me sis," she said, "me sis is with the arrow boys."

Cirilla lowered herself to the girl level:

"Your sister is in the archery, so you miss her?"

"No," the girl defiantly said, "me sis is hungry all the time. Because she can't get her arrows."

"She's hungry because she can't shoot?"

"She can shoot but she's wrong all the time!"

The girl was fighting hot and angry tears. Ciri sighed, calming the girl with a pat on her head. She waited for her to calm down, asked for more details and told her to go home. Her mother would deal better with the tears and anger. Ciri's first instinct was to go the man herself and punch him in the face for mistreating a girl like that. But Lady Sansa's words stopped her. They'll never trust some stranger and attacking one of their own wouldn't do her any good. But Lady Sansa decided to overlook that treatment of the women in training herself. She ought to keep her word.

It was bloody early in the morning, but Brienne was already testing her squire. He was slow to progress, but his progress was steady and sure.

"Nope," said Brienne after landing another blow on the squire. Podrick grunted, frustrated by his own mistake. Ciri stopped to watch them for a few moments. On the opposite side of her, Tormund Giantsbane was making his way towards Podrick. Ciri rubbed her forehead tormented by the situation that was about to unfold. Brienne seemed to be in the same situation. Pod, seeing an advantage for the first time, landed a blow on the woman's shoulder. Brienne retorted with a gut punch and forceful shove. The young man ended in a pile of snow.

"You are a lucky man," said Gaintsbane. Cirilla decided it was her queue to step in. She walked towards Brienne with her hand up, "Sorry, but I need her more right now," the witcheress said, looking at Tormund. The man smiled, amused by something that Ciri never caught on.

"I need to speak with Lady Sansa," Cirilla said, turning to the larger woman. Brienne looked at her funny.

"Lady Sansa is right there," she said, motioning up.

"No," the ashen-haired woman shook her head. "I need you to get her to talk to me."

Brienne didn't answer, her eyes were looking up. Cirilla followed. U Lady Sansa standing above them, overlooking the courtyard. Exactly where Cirilla had been yesterday. Beside Lady Stark was Lord Baelish, with his back to the courtyard, but undeniably him. Brienne went first, Cirilla following many steps behind.

Ciri heard the brief conversation that Brienne and Sansa were having about Lord Baelish. Littlefinger. She deemed it a fitting name for the man. When she heard her name, she walked up the stairs.

"Lady Ciri," Lady Sansa spoke first, "you wanted to speak with me."

"Aye, m'lady," the witcheress confirmed with a nod. "It's about a girl."

"A girl?"

"There's a girl in the archery. I think she's being starved for not shooting well."

"That man," Brienne said, angrily. The woman placed her hands on the rails, fingers in tight fists.

"If it is true," Lady Stark spoke, watching Brienne's reaction carefully, "the man will be dealt with. Do you know the name of the girl?"

"Yes, m'lady."

Sansa Stark asked few questions about the situation. But her resolve was unquestioned by Ciri. Brienne was walking beside her, visibly angered. Podrick was even taken aback by the anger on Brienne's face. Before he could place any questions, Cirilla gently shook the snow from Pod's shoulder and whispered to not question his mention on the matter and be careful avoiding her blows as those might be harder this time. Podrick reddened in the face and could only nod as a sign of understanding. Brienne shot them both a warning stare. Both smiled innocently and stepped away from each other.

It was just before sundown. Brienne and Ciri found themselves in the Great Hall, standing in the presence of the Lady of Winterfell and the King in the North. What should have been their break time turning into a trial. The man training in archery was present. In the middle of the Hall, right before his liege, he stood alone, unguarded. Ciri could not spy the girl who came to her in the morning. No children were present.

"Do you admit to starving the girl?" Sansa asked evenly.

"Do you believe me to be such a man, my lady?" the man asked with a forged offense.

Liar, thought Ciri, her firsts tight.

"Then why does the girl say so?" Lady Stark asked, her tone ever flat.

"She's a child, my lady," the man replied.

"She may be," Lady Sansa stood up, "but what about her mother that says the same?"

"What mother wouldn't believe her daughter?"

"And her father?"

The man just shrugged. Ciri could see where this was going. It's not that Lady Sansa believed his false words, but accusations weren't grand and hard to prove. He denied a peasant girl some food, it wasn't much of crime, even if it was done deliberately and in punishment. Doesn't mean the situation didn't infuriate her.

"My sister asked you a question," intervened Jon Snow, standing up.

"What can I say, my lord? They probably starving 'emselves," the man answered.

"No," spoke Sansa, "they don't. No more than anyone else at least. I call upon Lady Brienne and Lady Cirilla to come forth."

Ciri followed Brienne's lead. She was grateful that she wasn't called upon alone.

"Lady Brienne," said Stark, "how did you come to know of the situation?"

"Lady Cirilla informed me," answered Lady of Tarth.

"How did you come to know of this, Lady Ciri?" Sansa directed her gaze at the other woman.

"Her sister came to me in the morning on the verge of tears," Ciri said. "She told me."
"And you informed Lady Brienne."

"Yes," Brienne confirmed. Cirilla was surprised by the statement. In truth, she spoke little to nothing to Brienne regarding the matter. And by Brienne's reaction in front of Lady Sansa, Cirilla thought that it was obvious. Yet…

"And why should we believe this stranger, my lady?" asked the man with spite. "She's an outsider! What is she, anyway?!"

"Would you question Lady Brienne's integrity as well?" the Stark woman asked evenly.

"N-no," he said meekly.

Lady Sansa nodded:

"I have asked the girls, their family," she said, her tone harder and harder with each word. "I even question the boys under your training. I wouldn't have gathered us here if I had any doubts in my claims."

"My lady, you asked children and a peasant family who are always hungry," the man said accusingly.

"Do not interrupt the Lady when she speaks," said Jon sternly. Sansa's lips were touched by a smile but only for a second.

"Do you deny it?" Lady Stark asked the man before her. "Do you deny the accusations against you?"

"'Course, my lady!"

"You shall be removed from your position. We'll find someone else to overlook the training of our archers," Lady Sansa said, sitting down. Her eyes were unwavering and cold. Lady Brienne and Ciri bowed in respect to the King in the North and Lady of Winterfell. The conflict seemed to be resolved but didn't sit well with the young witcheress. Too easy, too soon. Her green eyes watched as a man was shamefully escorted out.

Ciri should have known that it was too easy, too soon. She threw a punch, feeling the meeting of another's flesh and bones. Blood stained the freshly fallen snow. Silver studs on her gloves tore the skin near the man's mouth, forever imprinting that horrible grimace. He swore violently but she could barely make out the words. His mouth was filled with blood to speak clearly. He spat more crimson.

"I'll get you, whore!" the man shouted, running away. She wouldn't follow him, still bewildered by shock. He dared to attack her in the night, right nearby her room. She would barricade the doors from now on. No one could guarantee her protection here. She was an outsider, she didn't belong. Come morning, she would find herself in trouble.