"They're getting stronger." Leaf tells the shadow man.

He came to them years and years and years ago, too many to count, and no one knows where he hails from or how he came to them in this form but he'd been so different from anything Leaf had ever seen before. Distant, cool, all knowing. Leaf could feel the power residing in him, her people could feel the power residing in him, and she'd found herself terrified by it.

But the shadow being had not harmed her nor had he harmed the others.

He'd merely looked down upon Leaf from under his hood of shadows that hid his face from her sight. He'd been searching for something specific, he'd nodded when he'd found it and he'd disappeared into nothingness in the time it had taken Leaf to blink. Some time later he'd returned, a shining ball of something brilliant in his palm.

Leaf isn't sure what he'd done with that ball of light but something tells her that whatever he did will benefit them when the Long Night comes. Something tells her that whatever he did will save them all from the darkness Leaf knows is coming.

Is that so?

"The Greenseer says you are like me... Other." Leaf remarks, shying away slightly when the being shifts.

No, he sounds amused, not like you.

"Then what?" Leaf demands, nails digging into her palms, "Who are you to stand against the darkness?"

The Greenseer had said that the shadow man was something else, other, not human. Never a human. Something other, something powerful, something like her but not quite. The Greenseer had been unable to tell the Children what, exactly, the shadow man is but what he had been able to tell them had inspired not only hope but a great deal of fear instead. The Greenseer had told them all that the shadow man that would wander between the trees and through the darkness was more powerful then even he. And the Greenseer is power.

He, the shadow man, is far more dangerous then Leaf would have originally thought.

I am that which all things fear, the shadow man's voice is a whisper tangled in the wind, and I have brought your savior back to you.

"Our savior?"

Yes, a warrior.

Then the shadow man turns to stare out at the great expanse of white that makes up the land around them.

In the distance Leaf can just make out the wall. That great icy thing that was built to keep the White Shadows out of the land of men. The only good it has done thus far is keep the White Shadows at bay, for they would not dare to launch an attack when their numbers are so small that they can't ensure their victory. When they come to wipe all that is good and warm from the world the White Shadows will do so with a hoard large enough to frighten even the Old Gods.

"What," Leaf finds herself asking the shadow man, "will one warrior do against them?"

She is a being of magic, is the calm reply, the spark that will light the match that will set the world ablaze.

"Sometimes fire can be worse then ice." Leaf finds herself muttering.

Oh, little one, you know nothing.

Leaf wants to snarl at the man, wants to rake her claws down his body and shred his clothes and make him bleed. What does he know? Nothing, he knows nothing of the White Shadows and the great fire beasts that once lived in the sky. Leaf has lived for so many years and she barely remembers the world before man came and defiled the land and slaughtered the innocent.

So this shadow man has brought a warrior? A being of magic? What good will that do any of them? Humans are cruel, quick to anger and even quicker to point the finger. If one were to discover the child was different then them... Leaf doubts the child will live long enough in the world of men to do much of anything.

"No," she tells the shadow man, "it is you who knows nothing."

And the shadow man trails a bony finger down her cheek.

Shall we see?

Then he's gone and Leaf is left to stand alone in the frigid twilight air.

~X~

Tywin Lannister has always been an ambitious man, has always tried to be better then those around him. A result of his own nature and his father's ineptitude. Ambitious though he may be he is not a fool nor is he his father. When Cersei had been born Tywin had seen his daughter's birth as an opportunity. The Queen had yet to give Aerys a daughter, a sister wife for his son, and Tywin doubted she would ever give her husband the female child he has sought after int he years following Rhaegar's birth.

So why not tie Cersei to the Iron Throne? Why not give her a princely husband and a crown? And she'd grown into such a pretty little girl with all of the refinements of her mother that Tywin hadn't seen any reason not to betroth his daughter to Rhaegar.

Tywin had been so sure that with his influence over the Seven Kingdoms and his long standing, if slightly shaky, friendship with the King would be enough to secure a betrothal agreement between the houses Lannister and Targaryen. He'd been wrong. So terribly wrong that the realization of his own failure had burned like acid in his gut. Eating away at his stomach and his throat and settling heavily on his tongue.

And now he stands, watching as King Aerys smiles at him like a child smiling at a court fool, raging with all of the indignation he can muster.

"You think," Aerys remarks, "that I would betroth my son and heir to your daughter? You've no dragon blood in you, Tywin."

Swallowing the anger Tywin says, "I do not mean to offend you, My King, I merely wish to ensure the continuation of the Targaryen line."

This time Aerys snorts, a very unkingly gesture that makes Tywin's rage return tenfold.

"You needn't worry about my line, Tywin," The King leans back in his chair and Tywin thinks of the boy he once was, so full of ambition and ideals and charm. "Rhaegar will marry a Targaryen."

"Your Grace, there are no female Targaryens save your Lady Wife." It's gritted out between his teeth and far too terse to be considered polite.

Tywin watches as Aerys' eyes burn with his glee and he wants to strike him.

"You do remember, don't you, that Steffon is my first cousin. His blood is my blood as is the blood of his children... Diluted though it may be Ostara Baratheon has dragon blood and she will make my son a fine queen."

Ostara Baratheon, he should have seen it coming. Should have known this would happen.

Steffon is, perhaps, his closest friend. The only friend that Tywin has ever had whom he did not suspect of trying to curry favor. It is not the thought of Steffon's daughter taking his own daughter's place as princess that has him raging. It is the fact that they'd discussed a betrothal themselves between Jamie and Ostara just weeks ago, nothing permanent but they'd discussed the possibility of it.

Now all those possible plans are slipping through his fingers like water and Tywin can do nothing to stop it. Not now, not when Aerys has already made his decision and will likely send a letter off to Storm's End the moment Tywin exits the room to ensure Steffon's compliance.

"Yes, your grace, I remember," Tywin says but the words taste bitter on his tongue. "Ostara Baratheon will make your son a good wife."

She would have made his own son a good wife. Smart and sharp as a whip with an understanding of things that most children fail to comprehend. Tywin had looked forward to tying his house to the Baratheons, he'd liked knowing that his son would marry the woman Ostara Baratheon would become under her parents' careful tutelage.

Now he has nothing but ruined plans and an image to salvage.

He bows to the king and says, "If your grace no longer requires anything of me I shall take my leave."

Aerys merely waves him off and Tywin is thankful for it. He must write to Joanna and Steffon immediately. Perhaps he can salvage his plans, perhaps he can create something beneficial out of this unfortunate series of events.

~X~

Cerys isn't sure how it happens.

She's reading from a book her Lady has lent to her, the leftover candle that she's been using for nearly a month is the only thing lighting the small space she's found herself occupying at times like this. The Keep is quiet, the servants asleep and the Lords and Ladies tucked away in their own beds as well. Cerys would normally read in her own room but her mother has grown large with child and she has so much trouble sleeping anyway that Cerys doesn't wish to disturb her more.

So she's found herself a little nook where she can read and remain out of the way of the other servants.

One moment she's reading from the book with the pretty blue cover and the next someone is ripping it from her hands and reaching up to tangle their fingers in her hair. The man rips her from her little nook and begins to drag her through the empty corridor.

He, Cerys doesn't know his name but he works in the kitchens, is screaming at her, cursing her, spitting at her. The pain and fear that rises up into her chest is enough to make her sob and plead but it does her no favors. It only seems to make the man angrier. He releases her, and for a moment Cerys thinks he's going to let her go but then the back of his hand is connecting with her cheek and the force of the hit causes Cerys' head to snap to the side.

"You stole it didn't you?" The man hisses, Ostara's book held aloft but out of reach, "You just couldn't settle with the maester's teachings so you stole the book instead!"

"No," Cerys whimpers, "it was a gift."

The man scoffs and raises his fist, all the while muttering about how her parents raised a liar and a thief. He means to hit her again, for a terrifying moment Cerys thinks he means to kill her, but a low angry rumble stills them both. Cerys turns her head to stare at the large shadowcat making its way down the corridor, its mistress- dressed in her nightclothes, hair a wild tangle around her head, and her eyes wild with her rage- walks calmly beside him.

Beside her, the man coughs.

"My La-" Ostara's hand rises, fingers curling into a loose fist and the man chokes on his breath, clawing at his throat like a man drowning.

"Are you alright, Cerys?" Ostara asks, voice colder and more sharp then Cerys has every had the displeasure of hearing it.

"Yes," she lies.

She doesn't tell Ostara that her cheek burns or that she's certain the man has pulled a good potion of her hair out by the roots.

Ostara nods once before she speaks, "Cerys take Rubeus back to my chambers. I'll be there in a moment."

Cerys isn't stupid enough not to do as she's been asked, so she scuttles over to the shadowcat on trembling legs and laces her fingers through his fur. Rubeus is warm and steady beside her, a shield between Cerys and the man who'd dragged her through the corridors. And when the shadowcat presses against her body Cerys turns and begins moving down the corridor in the direction of Ostara's personal chambers.

~X~

When Ostara returns to her chambers, carrying her book and without a scratch on her, Cerys finds herself unable to do anything but cry. Great hiccuping sob that has Ostara making her way across the room to pull her into a hug where she rubs Cerys' shoulders and smooths back her hair.

"He won't bother you again." Ostara promises which only makes Cerys cry harder.

"What did you do, Ostara?" Cerys asks once she's managed to suck in a breath.

Ostara goes still for a moment before shaking her head a bit and saying, "I told my father what he'd done to you... Father is sending him away."

There's more to it then that. Lords don't just send their servants away when they strike another servant's child. Cerys has seen husbands smack their wives, has seen brothers spit hurtful words at their sisters, and the Lords of Great keeps do nothing so long as the disturbances among the servants don't disrupt their daily lives. But Lord Baratheon has been so kind to them, the other children like Cerys, allowing them to learn their letters and play with his daughter.

Cerys buries her face in Ostara's curls and tries not to snot all over her.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Ostara asks, causing Cerys to flinch away.

She's never spent the evening in Ostara's bed before, even when her friend has offered Cerys always returns to the room she shares with brothers or sometimes her mother when she grows ill and needs Cerys' care. She's never spent the night in Ostara's bed but the thought of walking back to the servant's quarters doesn't soothe her frazzled nerves.

So she nods hesitantly and doesn't fight when Ostara guides her to the bed.

Once she's settled Ostara blows out the candle and pulls the heavy covers up to their chins before moving to wrap an arm around Cerys' shoulders. It makes her feel safe, knowing that Ostara and Rubeus are there with here. The fact that nothing can hurt her here while she's curled between Ostara and the great shadowcat soothes the rest of her frazzled nerves and allows Cerys to slip off into fitful sleep.

~X~

Steffon Baratheon stares at the servant lying silent in his cell. Tomorrow when the servants come it will look like an illness took him in his sleep, like he'd simple stopped breathing and went to the Stranger, it will not look like poison, it will not look like an assassination. The empty vial in his pocket is not a heavy weight as it might have been before, nor does Steffon harbor any true remorse. The man was a worm, scum of the earth, not worthy of the life he'd been given.

Any man, in Steffon's fine opinion, that raised their fists against children and women deserve a worse fate then that they're usually given.

Typically, Steffon would have sent a man such as the one before him North to the Wall where he would be subject to the wind and the bitter cold and Wildlings. Hopefully he would have died there, whether Beyond the Wall or trying to escape it Steffon wouldn't have cared. But unfortunately the Lord of Strom's End couldn't take such a risk with this man.

Sending him North would have meant giving him too many opportunities to speak of what Ostara did to him, of what Ostara could do. His sweet summer daughter, had not been kind and sweet to the man who'd struck her friend, not that Steffon could blame her for it. When she'd brought him to Steffon's door hours earlier he'd been whimpering and curled into himself, flinching whenever Ostara spoke or moved a certain way, and Steffon understands her rage and yearning for justice but he cannot let the man live now.

And so he'd taken the vial Maester Cressen had offered and forced the prisoner to drink every last bit of it.

Drastic measures must be taken to ensure the safety of one's family, after all.

Perhaps it is silly of him, to kill this man the way he has, but Steffon cannot ensure his silence and he will not ask Ostara too. It is not her responsibility to clean up this mess. It's his. He is the one that allowed the man to remain in his home, the one that allowed the servant children to learn to read and write so that they might make better lives for themselves latter on in life. Steffon does not regret that, he does not mind the children of his servants learning beside his own children, but just because he had no qualms with it doesn't mean others hadn't.

And the evidence of that is spread across the flood of the cell, hidden in flickering shadow.

"A shame, don't you think, that the man did not have a trial... Though, I suppose that Cerys will find some form of justice in this."

"I'm sure Ostara will tell her I've poisoned the man." Steffon tells Cressen, not at all surprised that the man found him here.

"Do you think she'll find out?" Cressen asks, voice calm and soft in the darkness.

Steffon turns away from the dead man in the cell and faces his Maester with a stony face and a raised eyebrow.

"Do you honestly think she won't?" He demands.

Becuase Ostara is too smart, too aware, too sharp-eyed not to notice and Steffon hopes that his daughter understands why he does it. Why he has killed this man.

It is a mercy, he thinks, for the man to die like this.

At least this way he is being punished for his crimes against a little girl who would never hurt a fly, his death was not fast after all, while also fulfilling the purpose of keeping his silent about Ostara' gifts. His little Doe may be powerful but she is still his daughter, she is still his to protect. Even if she doesn't truly need that protection, even if the Dornish bastard is teaching her the sword, even if she's got that blasted shadowcat to keep her company.

Despite it all Ostara is his family and Steffon will shield her from the closed-mindedness of noble and smallfolk alike for as long as he is able. For as long as she is young and till learning to be whatever it is she means to be. He might not like it, he might not want it, but Steffon can appreciate his daughter's strength of will and her stubbornness.

With a sigh Steffon rolls his shoulders and begins making his way from the dungeons. He doesn't wait for the good Maester to follow, because he is a man grown and oddly protective of Steffon's children, it is likely he will stay with the body a while longer. To ensure there are no signs of poisoning or struggle. He does pause, however, to ensure that the stairwell is perfectly lit to ensure the Maester does not slip or stumble before heading off toward the chambers where Cassana is likely awaiting him.