A/N: Welcome to part one of Morwenna's story. Just as a reminder, this story has some canon divergence and will cove a long portion of GoT and ASOIAF so bear with me. Also, I've played around a bit with ages...but this is fanfic so I'm sure no one minds right? Anyways, hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave a comment if you do! xJ

Memories of Winter

By Juliet McKenna

PART ONE: YOUTH

Chapter One: The Wildling of Runestone

WHITE HARBOR

The vastness of White Harbor was both alarming and exhilarating. Aside from the overwhelming scent of fish saturating the air, Morwenna had already made up her mind that there was no greater city in all Seven Kingdoms than White Harbor.

Of course she had yet to travel anywhere outside of the Vale until now. Before she'd been too young. But now she was two and ten. Her father had said once she was two and ten, things would be different. No more being sent to bed early with Ysilla and Helena. No more nights in the nursery. And most importantly, being two and ten meant she no longer had to stay behind when her elder siblings traveled to White Harbor for the festivals in spring.

Morwenna gaped, wide-eyed, at the busyness of the city, trying her best to memorize the sights and smells engulfing her from the moment they'd disembarked the ship. Gulltown, the port town nearest to Runestone, had been sufficient distraction for her when she was allowed to explore the city with her elder brothers. But now having seen White Harbor, she wondered if she knew anything about the world at all.

A hand snatched her wrist, tugging her through the crowded streets along the white cobblestone path towards the gates of New Castle. "Keep up, Morwenna," hissed her sister, Gwyn.

Gwyneth was only two years Morwenna's senior but already two heads taller. Growing into a true Royce, their father had crooned with pride. Yohn Royce stood as tall as the sky under Morwenna's craned gaze. Two and ten meant she was still far too small for her liking. Robar would sometimes carry her on his broad shoulders so she could see over the crowds. Today, her brother walked with his lips downturned and his gaze far away. He was a man of nearly twenty now and men of twenty did not carry their sisters on their shoulders. He was here not for the festivities but for business.

Vale business.

One day Vale business would be her business as well. But for now, she was two and ten and her only responsibility was to soak up every bit of goodness she could find.

Gwyn leaned close as they approached the gates. "Don't forget curtsy when father presents us to Lord Manderly," she whispered. "And stand up straight. And don't look around all starry-eyed like you've never been anywhere in your life."

"I haven't been anywhere," Morwenna countered.

Gwyn pinched Morwenna's side and the yip that she shouted drew her father's gaze from over his shoulder. His warm expression turned stony, his brows furrowing as the blue-grey eyes posed a silent warning Morwenna could not ignore.

"Wenna," he said, his voice low. "You gave me your word you'd behave."

"I…" she tried to argue but his brow arched and she let out a resigned sigh. "Yes, father."

"Come along, we're almost there."

Morwenna obliged, looking back over her shoulder as they entered the pristine white walls of New Castle's gates. She wondered silently why the Manderly's sat inside on such a beautiful day when there was so much to see. Surely if she were Lord Manderly's daughter, she would be able to partake in the spring festivities with the rest of the smallfolk.

The ceiling of New Castle's great hall rose high above them, white stone pillars stretching up to meet it. Small gatherings of nobles were scattered about the room, hearty laughter and thundering voices with thick burrs pouring from the taller men. Northmen. She'd met Northmen in her two and ten years, but never so many in one place.

Northern noblewomen stood long free hair streaming down their backs. Morwenna gawked, mouth hung open. Each morning she woke, rushing to the window of her chamber to feel the morning air rushing through her coal black hair. Those moments were fleeting, however, and she'd spend the next excruciating hour having her hair tended to and braided. Although their Lady Mother had passed nearly five years prior, her traditions for the ladies of House Royce still remained.

Gwyn nudged Morwenna, another warning.

Morwenna watched her sister as they walked through the hall. She stood, dark brown hair tied back in tidy thick braids. Shoulders pushed back, she glided across the wooden plank floors as if she were dancing on water. Gwyn had come by her skills easily under their mother's tutelage. Morwenna had only been six when their mother had fallen ill, barely old enough to hold a needle and thread.

Still, she did her best to emulate her sister's stature. She pushed back her scrawny shoulders and lifted her chin and when her brother Waymar looked back at her he stifled a laugh. Morwenna stuck out her tongue, earning another pinch from Gwyn.

"Ah, Bronze Yohn in White Harbor!" a booming voice shouted. "It is a great day indeed!"

The Lord of New Castle slapped his hands jovially on the thick wooden table, his large belly bumping it forward as he stood. Laughs and lively conversation paused as people turned to look at Morwenna's head of house, the legendary Bronze Yohn. The name had always been cause for laughter in their house. Her brothers taunting their father with the name, much unlike the burst of admiration laced in Wyman Manderly's warm words.

Morwenna dipped into a shallow curtsy, Gwyn's hand tugging her lower. Morwenna's knees wobbled enough that as she stood, Gwyn rolled her eyes.

"Lord Manderly," her father said with a short bow of his head. "We were pleased to receive your invitation to White Harbor. It is my daughter Morwenna's first time in the North and I could not have asked for better festivities to welcome her."

Morwenna beamed at her father's mention. Lord Wyman craned his neck around her much taller brothers. Waymar pulled her forward, his hands on her shoulders as she was presented once again. Gwyn cleared her throat politely and Morwenna dipped once again into a curtsey, counting to three before rising with a toothy grin.

"The spitting image of your late Lady Mother," Lord Wyman mused, which of course to Morwenna meant that he too had noticed she had not yet grown to be tall like the other Royces and had, perhaps, far too many freckles.

Either way she did her best to project her small voice through the hall when she replied, "Thank you, My Lord."

Lord Wyman turned towards the table and jutted his large hands out, waving over two young figures. "You must meet my granddaughters. You look quite near their age. Come, Wynafryd, Wylla."

Her father gave her an encouraging nudge. She stepped forward, curtseying to the younger girls who looked happy just to see another girl their age.

Morwenna clenched her jaw slightly whilst trying to maintain a smile. She knew of course from her extensive studies that Wynafryd was still only one and ten and Wylla only nine. One and ten meant they would be relegated to bed early. One and ten meant that if Morwenna was meant to befriend them, she too would be ushered away from the festivities much earlier than she'd been promised.

"Yohn, let us talk whilst the girls get acquainted. Ned and I want to hear news from the Vale," Lord Wyman boomed, clasping her father's shoulder.

Morwenna's eyes pleaded with her sister to stay but before Gwyn could excuse herself politely, their father called after her. Morwenna's shoulders sank. Gwyn was on Vale business too. A small hand curled around Morwenna's fingers. Wylla Manderly beamed up at her, her blond hair tucked messily behind her ears. Wynafryd, meanwhile, stood up straight, her frock tidy and hair delicately strewn over her shoulder.

"Come, I'll show you around," Wylla offered.

Being two and ten meant being polite to the children, Morwenna reminded herself. Even if she would much rather be doing anything else.

The last stop on her tour of New Castle was the library, per Wynafryd's suggestion and Morwenna found herself unable to leave even as the two Manderly girls insisted they rejoin the court. Instead, Morwenna stayed behind, eyes dancing across spine after spine of leather tomes lining the walls. The library at Runestone could not even fill half of the shelves of the room before her.

Morwenna pulled a particularly large book from the shelves written by a maester from Old Town. She'd only come across one book about dragons and it was small enough to only account for the dragons seen at Runestone, including Caraxes who was ridden by the infamous Daemon Targaryen. The Targaryens were long spent from Westeros and yet many Royces still spoke ill-words about the Prince who had once been tied so intimately with her family.

Morwenna propped her feet up as she leaned back on a soft-cushioned couch near the window with the best light. Gwyn's voice tsked in the back of her mind and she slipped off her salt-stained shoes before returning her bare toes to the stone windowsill. Her toes enjoyed the freedom, warm sunlight prickling the pale flesh.

She flipped through pages, tracing her fingers over intricate drawings of dragons of various sizes. She'd never heard of the Black Dread, and yet he looked fearsome enough that he must have been formidable in battle. It was no wonder Westeros had never truly stood a chance when Aegon I landed.

As the sun waned low in the sky, Morwenna crawled up into the vast windowsill, determined to steal the remaining light. Outside, smallfolk lit torches and fires near the harbor city. Small lights glittered in the twilight and she pushed open the window for a better look. Festive music danced on the salt-soaked wind up towards the castle walls. Morwenne sat the book at her side and stood, tapping her bare feet to the beat as she squinted into the distance.

"What are you doing?" a young voice asked. Morwenna jumped, heart thumping against her chest as she spun around to see a boy with auburn curls and a crooked brow. "You're not trying to jump are you?"

"Don't be daft," she replied, turning back to the city. "It would be far too painful a death."

A small chuckle erupted from behind his hand as he tried to stifle the laugh.

"Well then why are you up there?" he asked.

Morwenna sighed impatiently, pointing out at the harbor. "Watching the dancing. My father brought me to White Harbor and promised me there'd be dancing. But all the Lords and Ladies do at New Castle is gossip and drink wine."

The boy climbed up onto the cushion, pulling himself up towards the window as he gazed down. He shifted nervously. Morwenna reached out her hand.

"It's not all that difficult," she urged, boredly. "Well, unless perhaps you're still a child. I doubt my younger sisters could climb up here either."

"Still a child?" he asked skeptically, that thick brow raised again in a way that was beginning to bother Morwenna. "Are you not a child?"

"I am already two and ten, nearly three and ten this winter."

The boy snorted. "It is a long way from winter. And two and ten is not so very old."

She frowned. "Maybe for a boy of barely ten."

"I am already three and ten," he interjected.

Morwenna enjoyed the bothered crease between his brows as he frowned. Still, he gripped the bottom of the windowsill, ignoring her hand. He lifted his chin, peering over the side and abruptly looked back up.

"So you are not a child, but you are scared? Is that it?"

"I'm not…" he began but didn't finish his sentence as he glanced at her hand again.

Morwenna wiggled her fingers. "It's safe enough," she told him. "You can see much better from up here. All the way to the sea."

"I'm quite fine, as I am." If the lie in his voice wasn't so obvious, the way he scratched at his tousled curls would have given him away.

"I won't let you fall if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh?" he asked, his voice tight. "And what is a girl of your size going to do? You're barely bigger than Lord Manderly's hound."

Morwenna cursed her Coldwater height.

"Fine, stay down there. What do I care if you are too cowardly to enjoy the most beautiful view in White Harbor."

Morwenna's gaze stayed glued to the horizon but from her periphery, the boy shifted again, goaded by her words. He pulled himself up onto the platform just barely wide enough for his feet and he clutched the side of the wall, his eyes wide with terror as they shifted to the ground.

"Don't look down," she insisted, guiding his eyes towards western banks of the White Knife. "Look out there."

The sun dipped lower, painting the cloudless sky in deep oranges and purples. Next to Morwenna, the boy's breaths steadied, still gripping the side of the window as he watched the sun set. Slowly, the tension in his features softened and his lips curled at the edges. Her smile widened.

"See? I told you it was the most beautiful view in White Harbor."

"You were right," he replied.

"You'll find I often am."

The two stood in the window of New Castle's library until the sun had long disappeared, giggling and pointing out the merriment below. Loud footsteps pulled Morwenna's attention to the large wooden door swinging open. Her brother, Waymar, let out a heavy sigh as he crossed the room.

"Wenna, have you been in here this whole time?" he grumbled. "I've been looking for you for ages. What are you doing up there? Do you have a death wish?"

Waymar reached up, snatching her from the windowsill.

"Father promised I could…"

"Father is the one who sent me," he interrupted, hauling Morwenna over his shoulder. "The feast began ages ago and instead of eating I had to come find you."

"I'm not even hungry!" she groaned.

Waymar, uninterested in her level of hunger, only grunted in response as they crossed back towards the open door. Morwenna let out a resigned sigh of her own as she looked back at the boy in the window and waved.

"My name is Morwenna!" she shouted.

Clinging to the window, smile still glued to his face, he waved back.

"I'm Robb."

For her late arrival and great insult to the others at the feast, Morwenna's father sent her to bed without supper. Two and ten meant there was no longer an excuse for tardiness. She shared her room with Gwyn who came back late, beaming with tales about dancing.

Morwenna, who had of course stayed awake with her ear pressed to the door, now buried a disgruntled cry into her pillow.

Gwyn scoffed, pulling her braids delicately apart and brushing loose elegant brown waves of hair that spilled down her back. "You should have behaved, like I told you, instead of climbing around in windows and behaving as if you're some sort of wildling."

"At least wildlings have more adventures than ladies," Morwenna argued, arms crossed over her chest.

"Waymar said he saw you with a boy in the library. If you don't want to be considered a child anymore, Wenna, then you should know better than to be alone in a situation like that."

Morwenna frowned. "A situation like what? We were watching the festival in the harbor."

"Yes and that's what you have to say about it, but there is no telling what tales he might have spun to the other boys. And it's his words that will believed over yours. Always. You can't put yourself in that position. Our reputation is what makes us good daughters to House Royce. Do you understand?"

Morwenna nodded though she didn't really understand. She doubted the boy from the window would go around saying much of anything. If he did, she'd just tell them all he was scared of heights. That would put a stop to anything he had to say about her.

Gwyn slipped on her nightgown and blew out the candles in the room. She climbed into the bed next to Morwenna, pulling the fur blankets over them both as cold spring air drifted through the window. The scent of sea salt still lingered in the air.

"Wenna," Gwyn whispered.

"Hm…" Morwenna answered, head still buried beneath the pillow.

"Father said I'm to be married."

Morwenna pulled her head up, her coal strands tangled across her face. "What?"

"He's been talking to Lord Mallister for months about a potential match between me and Patrek Mallister. With Lord Stark in White Harbor, they were finally able to come to an agreement. With the Warden's blessing, father said I will be wed by next spring."

Morwenna opened her mouth to speak but then closed it. A wedding? Gwyn would be six and ten by the following spring. Without their mother Gwyn had been Lady of Runestone. She learned how to run the estate, she kept appointments with the steward and the maester. She'd been buried in the account books all winter.

With her gone…

Morwenna suddenly realized what it meant to be two and ten. Two and ten meant responsibility when one's sister was sent off to be married. Gwyn would be keeping the books and appointments at Seagard. And runestone would be left to Morwenna.

Vale business would be her business.

She could have said that she would miss her sister, or argue that she was far too young to be a bride. She might have told Gwyn that she was scared at the thought of becoming Lady of Runestone, scared like the boy in the window was scared of heights.

But instead she laid her head back down at the pillow, her pale blue eyes peering into those of her sister and whispered, "It's good you won't be too far from the sea."

When she closed her eyes, she whispered a silent prayer to the old gods and the new, that she would never have to grow up after all.

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