Chapter 18: Arrival and Awakening
POV Eddard , 1 st day, 3 rd, 298 AC
The cold air hurt just right as he took a deep breath, as the condemned's head was slammed into the ironwood stump.
Eddard dismounted from his dappled stallion, Theon doing the same only a fraction of a second later, and approached the small ragged man. "Ice." he commanded, using the Lord's voice his father used before him.
His ward quickly obeyed, tilting the scabbard for Lord Stark's ease of use.
He reached for it, twisting his torso had he had done at least a hundred time since they heard of The Weeper's crowning. The smallest King-Beyond-The-Wall in recorded history, but then again, the Watch was never been in worse shape. The forces depleted until they could barely hold three keeps, most the men having no mettle. The New Gift was truly a deceptive curse, born of good intentions, only worsening what was...
The ring of the steel brought his mind back to the moment, he didn't even have to think as the words came out as they always did, "In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." the blade rose high above his head and Eddard felt Bran's gaze leave him. Still too early...
Ice fell and cleaved through the curse spewing Wildling's neck with little resistance, what small weight the greatsword boasted enough to finish the task and end the string of profanity.
As the blood splattered around, gushing from the stump, two horses neighed loudly. One of them rearing behind him, the other bolting from the under the hill the holdfast stood upon. "Stupid horse! Get ba-" he heard a young girl shout, before it was suddenly silenced.
One of the men in the party, Hullen by the sound of it, snickered as he expertly took hold of the beast's reins. His son Harwin quickly followed, until everyone couldn't help but laugh.
Ned fought down the smile that threatened to break the mask, Lord Stark succeeded. "Arya Stark." He said, tone hard and cold. Eddard quickly sheathed Ice and dismissed Theon, the boy kicking the head as he went back to his horse.
The laughter ended, and his daughter, along with her accomplice Lyanna Mormont, climbed out of their hiding place. The bear cub holding the reins of one of the older ponies. Both their faces were down from the shame, though he knew it was not from their deeds, but that they were caught. Silent as the dead, the pair approached him and stopped just within reach.
"Neither of you are meant to be here." Eddard paused, then thought of the perfect punishment, "You will both have to tell Lady Stark of this once we return." he said, and though both girls grumbled their defiance only went so far.
Wordlessly, Hullen came over with the skittish grey mare and returned the reins to Arya. Thanking his master of horse quietly, she swung herself into the saddle. The smaller girl did the same with her pony, still not quite big enough for even their smallest horse. Then they rode off the join his sons and ward.
Ned watched Arya join Robb and Bran, forced away the ghosts, and mounted the dappled stallion.
The ride felt colder as they rode back to Winterfell, losing the pleasing bite and becoming queer. The silence only made it worse, perhaps he reacted too harshly. He nearly sighed, it was hard not to when Arya acted so much like his sister and his worry took hold.
Thankfully the silence, and his spiralling thoughts, were broken by two brave guards. "What-ca think Lady Stark'll think up?" Bern tried to whisper.
"No ridin' fer a moon?" Roddy said back, not even trying to be discreet.
"Am bettin' on triple the sewing lessons." Bern replied, giving up any sort of restriction.
"Mayhaps... it will be both?" Harwin butted in, and everyone else took up their own conversations.
Eddard was content to listen, until he noticed Bran starring at him. All attempts at the lordly mask melted away at his son's shame filled eyes. So, Ned steered his horse right up next to Bran's young pony. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid, son." he said, placing a hand on his boy's shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze.
"But I have to be brave, how can I be if I'm too afraid to even look." he said, his eyes downcast and misty.
"Brandon Stark." Ned said kindly, drawing his son's eyes to meet his. "That is the only time you can be brave. Courage without any fear is just stupidity or arrogance. Every hero, from the Winged Knight to the Last, feared their foes and challenges greatly. And so, they had to be brave." he said, shamelessly pulling from what his own father told him at that age.
Bran looked back down, but this time in contemplation.
As he waited for the inevitable question, Arya's debate with Theon grew loud enough to hear, even from their place at the front and his at the back of the party. "Stupid! Roddy the Ruin could beat any squid!" his little girl shouted, waving her hands wildly to help assert her argument.
"Please, any true Ironborn would wipe the deck with that old man." his ward said arrogantly, Ned supposed he'd have to fix that enlarged head of his later. It could get the boy in trouble.
Before Arya could rile herself up into yelling every accomplishment of one of her few male heroes, Lyanna interjected and suggested she and Arya leave the "Stupid squid who doesn't know anything." and have a race instead to which his pup quickly agreed. Though she rode a horse, it was a poor one, so Lyanna kept up well with her slightly superior riding skills and the experienced pony's sure-footedness.
As they crested a hill, Bran asked his question. "Were you afraid in the rebellion, father?" he asked.
"Of course I was, the entire time from when I left the Vale to when I returned to Winterfell." Barring some moments...
"Really?" Bran asked, clearly surprised.
"Aye, so I had to be brave." Ned said, releasing Bran's shoulder and pulling away. Letting his boy stew with the new information.
Only a few minutes later, Lyanna Mormont reappeared on the hill. "Lord Stark! Bran! Robb! Come and see what Arya found!" with that she once again disappeared.
Jory rode over to him, "Trouble, my lord?" the young man asked.
"Of some kind, come let us see what they've unrooted this time." Ned replied, driving his horse into a canter.
He and the rest of the party soon found the little Mormont atop a snowbank, waving at them from beside her pony and Arya's horse. "Over here, Lord Stark!" she shouted. Once they were close, she released her pony and rushed to the other side of the bank.
Ned could hear his daughter before he saw her, "I'm Arya! Can I see your sword?" she asked loudly.
She was in the middle of asking another question when he saw what Arya found. It was an odd group. There were two women, one armoured and entertaining his daughter, who was holding a rather large longsword in one hand and a small pup in the other, the other wearing a deep red cloak and standing apart. Both women were holding cubs, two each.
Next to the armoured woman stood a large man, taller than Ned, with an enormous axe on his back and baring a darker and heavier version of the woman's armour. His long face seemed familiar, the shape of his nose, the line of his jaw. Even his odd eyes, silver and slitted like a cat's, struck a chord in Ned.
He walked forward slowly, this man, he knew that he knew him. It was just out of reach, then the young man turned to the woman beside him, and smiled.
Jon
Ned felt weightless as his pace quickened.
Jon!
As he got closer, his boy noticed him, his eyes widening. An errant thought wondered who did that to him, to his once dark eyes.
"Jon." he said hurriedly, feeling like his boy would suddenly disappear again.
Before anyone, not Jory, his daughter or either woman, could react, Ned pulled his pup by his shoulder and gripped him into a hug. The very same he would give if both Brandon and his father were here at once.
Slow, hesitant arms reciprocated. Gentle and tentative at first, then firm as could be. "F-father?" his boy asked, in a tone that did not suit his frame.
"Aye." he said, pulling back to get another look at Jon.
He looked older than his years would suggest, four and ten going on five and ten in a few moons, and his eyes of course. He had gotten big, nearly a height with Robert during the war. His dark hair, her hair, hugged his neck with the sides and back pulled into a tail behind his head.
Ned only fully let go when he heard Arya's excited gasp, she had been told her of her lost brother many times, "Truly?" she asked, walking over slowly. Both sword and pup still in hand.
He only gave her a nod as he ruffled her hair, much to his daughter's obvious displeasure.
Arya once again started asking questions, towards Jon this time, but before she could truly begin another person spoke up. "Jon?" Robb said, having just arrived and hopefully not noticed Ned's near run.
His son walked over quickly, recognition dominating his features, and pulled Jon into his own manly embrace. "Where have you been?" was the first question to come from the red-haired son's mouth.
But before Jon could answer, "What the hell is that monster?" Greyjoy shouted.
Thankfully for the boy's ears and hide, Robb looked over his brother's shoulder and exclaimed "That's a direwolf!" his voice filled with wonder.
Following his son's eyes, he saw it. A great grey beast bigger than Bran's pony and recently killed.
"And pups!" Arya added, presenting the small grey one in her left hand.
"Pups?" He heard Bran ask, the boy's long-suffering pony finally catching up. His second youngest dismounted and rushed over to Arya to have a look. "Can we keep them, father?" he asked.
"Your brother Jon found them, Bran. He is who you should ask." he said and Bran turning to Jon, wide-eyed at the revelation.
His son smiled that small smile that Ned didn't know he needed till it was gone, "Of course." he said, taking the look the wrong way.
Then Ned, in a bid to stem the impending rain of questions from both Arya, who was stewing over all the interruptions, and Bran, asked for some introductions.
"Father, this is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon." his boy said gesturing to the armoured, silver-haired young woman. "And Karra Siubhail." he continued, gesturing this time to the cloaked woman. Which prompted her to lower her hood, exposing jaw length light blond hair and a beautiful face.
"Pleased to meet you, father." the woman, Cirilla, said while winding a free arm around Jon's.
Surprised, Ned looked to his son only to see him smiling at the woman with both deep affection and exasperation.
"A pleasure, my Lord." the other woman greeted, with a shallow bow and a toneless voice.
He nodded to both, "Any further questions will wait for Winterfell, your brother and his companions are surely tired from their journey." he commanded evenly.
They all mounted up, two of the guards having to ride double to make room for the new arrivals. Not the three he had suggested, Cirilla was adamant that she could simply share with "her" Jon.
The ride was quiet for all of ten minutes, when Arya started to throw question after question at her brother and his companions.
And for the first time in nearly a decade, Ned grinned.
POV Old Nan , 1st day, 3rd moon, 298 AC
Nan stood next to Ser Rodrik as they waited for the Neddy to return with the rest from the execution. The rest including young Arya and the little Mormont, oh how, rightfully, furious Lady Catelyn had been when she found out, though the news of the girls' little adventure brought a smile to the old woman's face. There was at least one she-wolf every generation. Each of them reminded Nan of her own escapades in her youth.
When the spotter finally announced Neddy's arrival, his wife had visibly relaxed and called many of the staff to come and wait for him. A remarkably southern custom, most of them had work to do and little remaining sunlight to do it in. Regardless, they, along with the children, waited alongside the Lady.
Eventually, she heard the outer gates creak open, then the drawbridge lower, followed by the raising of the outer gates' portcullis. The horses thumped along the wooden bridge and soon, the inner gate opened and revealed the frontmost men of the party. That being young Jory and little Lya.
Then, the final obstacle was raised with a slight groan, which was quickly written down by Rose, and they all rode into the courtyard.
Nan's eyes, which contrary to popular belief were not blind, swung over the party and noticed that it was larger than when they left. The old woman quickly spotted the newcomers, and noticed that one wasn't new at all. It was young Jon, finally back home. Though he felt... different, but also more himself.
Her eyes turned misty as he helped the woman who rode with him off the horse, which earned him a kiss to the cheek. He even brought a woman. A pretty one too. She was so proud of her pup.
As Neddy and the pups dismounted and approached, those who had accompanied dispersed to their various tasks. Hullen and Harwin seeing to the horses, Jory to the guards to receive reports, and the squid skulking off to Wintertown. Two men were even carrying three squirming pups, the four-legged kind, each and rushing off. Neddy and the others, including young Jon and his female companions, I know not whether to scold or praise him on that, stopped at the current Lady Stark.
She curtsied, another southern habit, What's wrong with a simple bow? And whatever happened to blood oaths? and Neddy indulged her. Always too kind, that pup. Gives little Robb the wrong impression, and with no others to guide him... Mayhaps the Umber girl can help straighten his head?
Nan was pulled back from her thoughts when she heard a girlish shout, "Jon!" little Sansa, abandoning the courtesy that usually ruled her, rushed her older brother. She slammed into his chest, "You came back! Just like you said in your letter! I knew it! I knew you would..." the girl's happy cries slowly devolved into tears, still clutching his clothes.
The sight brought another smile to Nan's aged face, the flame blessed pup finally had her wish come true. Oh, how devastated she was when he left and how stubborn she was that he would come back like he promised in the letter he left. The one Sansa kept on or near her person at all times, no matter how much anyone tried to get her to let go. Not that many did.
Jon, recognition that was quickly replaced by fondness, slowly returned the hug with that small smile of his. All the while Lady Stark was stiff as an ironwood board.
After a moment or two, little Sansa recomposed herself and released her brother, allowing him to greet her mother.
As the boy approached, Lady Stark guided little Rickon behind her protectively. Rodrik sighed beside her. "My lady, I apologise. I don't know your name." he said, clumsily kissing the back of Lady Stark's hand with unpractised movements.
Neddy coughed, "My lady wife Catelyn, Jon." he said, seeming slightly pained.
She said nothing in exchange, only nodding slightly at little Jon and glaring at Neddy. Little Jon's woman, the armoured one, glared right back. Hmm, some good steel there. The pup chose well. Or was it the other way around?
After a few seconds of silence, little Rickon peeked from behind his mother's skirts and looked at Neddy and Jon. A confused look on his face. This somehow made the lady stand even stiffer.
The wandering pup moved on to the Umber girl, who had just taken her tongue out of young Robb's mouth. Ah, the fire of youth. He greeted her in a similar fashion to the previous Lady, this answer however was more forthcoming, "Serena Umber, your brother Robb's betrothed." she said frankly, "Though I suppose you already guessed that, eh?" Serena continued cheekily.
Little Jon blushed at that, though just a little on the cheeks and the tips of his ears. What made her smile though was his completely stoic face.
"Jon, I am sure you are tired from your journey, but I must speak to you in my solar. I have... questions." Neddy said, using his Lord voice. "Rose, see to it that Jon and Cirilla get their room near the children's." he continued, gesturing to the armoured woman. Just one then. "Lady Karra will be roomed in the guest house." he finished, pointing to the other woman.
"Yes, Lord Stark." the older woman bowed deeply and left to obey.
Neddy simply walked away, while Jon, after being whispered at by his woman, followed.
Everyone else then dispersed; young Robb went in the direction of the yard along with his Umber girl: Arya and Lya went off to terrorise Gods know who: Sansa took hold of her little friend and went off whispering excitedly to the kitchens: Karra, after asking for directions to the library, went off to the library tower with a sense of purpose: Lady Stark took little Rickon and left, most likely to her rooms: Cirilla stood there a moment, shrugged her shoulders, and left, seeming to wander and look at everything as she did: Bran rushed off where the guards with the pups went.
Nan simply stood there, as everyone around her left. She decided that today was a good day, even her knees hurt her less than during the last.
Nan sat by the hearth of young Bran's room, her bone needles clacking as she knit a blanked for little Sansa's direwolf pup. Direwolves, she hadn't thought she'd ever see one again. A sign, it must be.
"The old castle disliked the little boy, who picked at the wood of its doors and rubbed his snot on its walls. So, it made life difficult for him." she continued with her story, the third demanded from the two pups before her. "Raising the floorboards to trip him, slamming doors to frighten him, snuffing out torches to leave him in the dark and opening shutters in the night to wake him with the cold." down the hall a door slammed.
"As the boy grew into a young man, he grew to hate the castle that bothered him so. He ordered parts from being repaired, tore the slamming doors off their hinges, ripped up the floor boards and nailed the shutters closed." she continued, as Cirilla, stripped of her plate but still in padded practical clothes, crept into the room and snuck behind the younger children.
"For many years the castle stewed in its anger, but did nothing to the young man. Until he thought he had stopped the castle's actions for good, that he was perfectly safe. Eventually he forgot what the castle used to do." Cirilla poised herself, ready to strike.
"Then, one day, the young man wed and he held the grandest of feasts to celebrate the event. All the lords of all the land came to feast in the main hall, under the new chandeliers the young man had had made. The woman he wed was his childhood sweetheart, and the most beautiful maid in the kingdom." Nan stretched out the tale, as Cirilla trembled in anticipation.
"As he, his new wife, the lords and his friends feasted, the young man was happy. Truly the happiest he had ever been. Then the chandeliers, made from wrought iron, fell from the ceiling and killed him with a-"
"BANG!" then set him aflame as his joy turned to ashes in his mouth. Cirilla shouted as she clapped her hands between the pups' heads. The boys sprang to their feet and cried out, their pups yelping along with them, only for the young woman to laugh and hug them. "I got you!" she chuckled, sitting in a chair and pulling the babe up to sit on her lap.
Nan looked at the girl quizzically, "Jon's still busy with his father, Karra's stuffing her nose in dusty tomes and scrolls, Gwyn is still out hunting Gods know what and the pup is sleeping off his meal. So, I decided to look for some stories and I heard you." she explained with a grin.
"Cirilla-" little Bran started.
"You can call me Ciri, Bran." the young woman interrupted, looking up from tickling Rickon's belly.
"Ciri, are you Jon's wife?" he asked curiously.
"No, not yet at least." she told the boy, before mumbling that "The brute still hasn't thought to ask..." with a pout.
"You have stories?" the babe in the silver-haired woman's lap asked.
"Me? Are you certain you want to hear mine?" she asked, facing the boy yet looking at Nan for permission. They both nodded.
"Alright then. Once upon a time, there was a great and legendary monster hunter named Geralt of Riva. Though this was before all knew him." She started, in a voice that told of her knowing the tale well.
"The monster hunter had heard of King Foltest's decree that any who could cure his daughter, Adda, of the curse placed upon her would be rewarded with their weight in gold." Ciri continued, drawing the children into the story.
"Geralt met with the king to learn more of this task, and found that Adda had been turned into a Striga. A ferocious humanoid beast with claws that could rend steel plate and teeth as sharp as daggers. Undeterred, the hunter accepted the contract and travelled to the abandoned winter palace." She was skilled, Nan noted, animated in her telling.
"Once there, he ventured deep into the ruins, quiet as could be as to not wake the beast. Then, having found where he would fight the cursed being, he let out a long, piercing whistle." the young woman breathed deeply, put four fingers in her mouth, and blew. The sound that came out was like the shriek of an evil specter, and it only enraptured the boys further.
"The beast was quick to find him. It fell upon Geralt like a bolt of lightning, it's arms as swift as the wind. But the hunter was faster, he parried each of the Striga's strikes, but took great care not to harm it. For if he did, the princess herself would be wounded." to better portray the fight, Ciri made a claw with one hand and a blade with the other. Then had them scratch and chop at one another.
"The battle was long and arduous, the hunter slowly tired and had taken wound after wound. Suddenly, the Striga used both its clawed limbs and disarmed Geralt! But as the beast pounced, the hunter used one of his few spells: Aard. The wind spell launched the Striga through the air and out a nearby window." Using a carved wooden soldier, Ciri showed the boys the Striga's flight by throwing the toy onto the nearby bed.
"Knowing this would be his only chance, Geralt left his sword where it fell and rushed to the castle's crypt. But the Striga was close behind, having recovered from the fall. Just in time, the hunter leapt into Adda's tomb and magically sealed it behind him." this turn of events was shown by Ciri quickly sliding one hand under another.
"Geralt remained in the tomb until dawn. When he unsealed it and pulled himself out, he found Adda. Completely cured and sleeping soundly next to the tomb. The hunter, after covering her with his cloak, brought the cured princess back to her father the king and received his reward in full. The end." the young woman finished her tale with a winning grin.
After only a moment of marveling at the new story, the children started demanding another from the silver-haired woman. Ciri agreed with a laugh, her big emerald eyes twinkling.
As the girl threw herself into another story, this one about a proud sorceress named Yennefer, Nan decided to take a well-deserved nap.
The great hall was terribly loud, as it was every time the residents of the castle came for their lunch. Nan was sitting very near the head table, where Neddy, Robb, Serena, Bran, Arya, Jon, Ciri, and Rickon, along with three servants, ate.
As little Jon's silver-haired woman played with the babe in her lap and Neddy, young Robb and the Umber girl were speaking with the servants. One of the pup's best ideas. The wandering pup, after many whispered demands from his younger siblings, took a cup and discreetly brought it under the table.
In the blink of an eye, the metal visibly chilled and the liquid inside slowly slid out as ice. So that's what it was. It's back then, good. But then something happened that the old woman didn't quite expect, the ice changed shape and floated in his hand.
Little Jon quickly shushed and placated both children, passing them each the ball of ice that didn't melt in their hands, yet didn't hurt them. Which was also strange.
He took it back and dropped it back in the cup without a sound, and before either pup got too excited, he whispered something in both their ears. Something that made them beam up at him silently.
Dinner long since done, Nan sat cozy at one of the hearths in the now empty great hall with a warm cup of mulled wine in hand. Today was truly a good day.
Her lost pup had returned big and strong and with familiar, if slightly strange, magic. With a wife to be too, if Ciri's determination keeps. Which Nan believes will. This resulted in Neddy being the happiest she'd ever seen him.
The direwolves had returned to House Stark, after far too long. She sighed at the memory of the last pup, killed by an assassin's blade before she could even have her first solid meal.
Little Bran had seen his first killing, a sad yet necessary thing. It will make him more resilient, stronger so that when the time came he wouldn't hesitate. Arya and the little Mormont had as well she supposed, but then again Nan was never truly worried about them hesitating for their time.
She had even spotted this "Gwyn" that young Ciri had mentioned, a great blue eagle larger than any she had ever seen. The pup truly was lucky wherever he had gone.
As she stood, she noted that even her back hurt less today. Truly a blessed day.
Siping her mulled wine, Nan walked down the darkened hall and left the great hall by the rear exit. She passed through the dark gallery and left it via a side door that took her through another pitch-black hall. She knew the halls well enough, and had no need for light to guide her way.
Eventually, she made it to her room where, without her even touching it, the door weakly creaked open. Nan walked inside and the cold hearth sputtered a weak flame to life.
The old woman sighed, and cared for the pitiful attempt until it became a roaring blaze.
She sat on her old, soft bed and smiled. "It's good to see you're awake again." the floorboards gently creaked back.
POV Euron Greyjoy, 1st day, 3rd moon, 298 AC
Deep in the bowels of the Silence, the Crow's Eye stood before three and twenty candles, all but one flickering with life. Only one made from sharp and twisted dragon glass.
To his left were two chests of oiled oak and black iron, a stand baring his Valyrian steel scale armour and two bound and gagged Qartheen warlocks.
To his right were two more warlocks, just as bound as those to Euron's left. Between them stood his varnished ironwood desk, littered with various scrolls, maps and tomes.
Just like every evening, the Crow's Eye pulled out a dragon glass dagger and bowl, then took blood from each man in the room, himself included. He approached the glass candle, chanting the words taught to him by that masked sorceress he couldn't capture, and poured the bowl's contents over it.
Unlike every evening, the blood seeped into the black material and bright life filled its core. Feeling the humming energy of the candle, Euron put his hands around it and pushed them down.
Ignoring the tearing of his palms and the pain it wrought, his smiling eye bored into where the flame would sprout. But it refused to burn.
With a roar of anger Euron threw the wretched thing into the other candles, the hot dragon glass melting through eleven of them and bouncing off the wall. It rolled back to him, against the tilt of the ship, and stopped before his feet. Before he could kick it away, the still glowing candle brought itself upright and its inner light pulsed.
Suddenly, the bound maegi started screaming against the wool between their teeth. Euron brought his eye down upon one of them, and smiled at what he saw.
The already thin man's flesh was rapidly losing what mass it had, his skin cracked and seared while smoke rose from inside his ears. His hair burst into flames and his eyeballs popped like grapes under heel.
The four warlocks' screams choked out and the glow of the candle died.
One by one the flickering flames of the wax candles went out, until Euron was left in darkness. Then, like the sun between the jade gates, but also the sparks of a smithy, a small flame came to life on the tip of the dragon glass.
Around him the colours became something... more. The black of his desk seemed like a piece of the void given shape, the dusty blood of the warlocks was like ruby powder and the gold of his armour shined more brilliantly than they had even in the summer islands.
But the raider saw none of this, only the small flame that gradually consumed his sight. In it he saw many things, some that brought him joy, while others earned only his ire, eventually his sight passed through the layers of the world and saw only one thing.
A pair of eyes. They were a hazel, of the green variety, sunken slightly into their owner's skull and under a dark pair of brows.
The eyes, they saw him, all of him. His wants, his needs, the things he'd done, those he wished to do and what he feared.
He just had to ask, "Who are you-
POV Joy, 30th day, 2nd moon, 298 AC
The aged tome thumped closed and the relatively young maester shooed them all out of his study. "Out, girls. You are all free at last, but remember what we went over today for I will test you on the morrow." seemingly ignoring the groans of his students, he turned over to his small library.
The other girls, the daughters and sisters of lower noble houses or simple landed knights, all left. While Joy remained.
"Maester Willis, may I ask a question?" she asked, using the tone of voice she knew scholars liked.
"Joy? I must admit I am shocked to see you still here." he said, one dark brow raised. "Regardless, I am oathbound to assist any and all in the pursuit of knowledge. You may ask your question." he answered, gesturing for her to sit back into her seat.
"I was wondering about what you taught us yesterday, about King Tyrion the third. Why did he bring the Andal nobles to ward and foster? Were they not all the First Men's foes?" Joy asked, the question having refused to let her sleep all night.
"Well, it is not known why exactly he did what he did, but many reasons are theorized in the Citadel. The most popular being that King Tyrion wished to learn how to forge iron and steel from his Andal counterparts, the second most is that he wanted a peaceful resolution to the countless wars between their people." the maester answered, putting a hand to his chin.
"Now, your second question is more... divisive. The faith and those who align with their side of history would say that King Tyrion and others like him, such as the Hightowers and Gardeners, saw the light of the seven and wisely converted to what was inevitable. Northmen or Ironborn would point to themselves as examples of the Septons' so-called eventuality and call those who integrated cowards or weaklings." he continued, his eyes shining while Joy's were drawn to his many copper links.
"But unlike the Brackens and Blackwoods, not all First Men hated all Andals and not all Andals hated all First Men. Friendships were made alongside blood feuds and the Septons were, and are, right that the Faith of the Seven would spread to all corners of Westeros, but conversely the religions already present such as the Old Gods would endure throughout Westeros." He explained further.
"An example of both these things is King Joffrey, the first Andal King of the Rock, and the Stone Garden. Surely, as a pure-blooded Andal, he wished to burn the heart tree first chance he got, but to this day it still stands. Why do you think this is, Joy?" the learned man asked, his face almost eager.
"Because he couldn't..." she started, hesitating. The maester seemed to struggle not rolling his eyes as he gestured for her to continue.
"He couldn't, because his smallfolk would rebel, as would his more pious First Men lords. Mayhaps he also didn't care enough, or feared his own household killing him." Joy said with confidence.
"All these are potentially correct, Joy. But the first answer is the most likely and there was one more thing you missed. Not all Andals thought the heart trees and Children of the Forest demonic, and thus didn't burn or kill them on sight." he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.
"But you must also remember this, Lord Eddard Stark did what King Joffrey couldn't. He tore down the small sept he once built for his wife. Lord Stark had the opportunity, the authority, the will and the excuse to purge the Faith of the Seven from Winterfell. To do any impactful things, and succeed, you need those four things. Always remember this, Joy, and you will never fail." Maester Willis said, his tone serious and slightly dark.
Suddenly, he loudly clapped his hands, "As much as I enjoyed this conversation, you must go. Unless you wish to be punished by your Septa for your tardiness." he said smiling, the solemn shadows gone.
The reminder sending a shiver down her spine, Joy sprung to her feet and rushed out of the study, light chuckling following her.
Joy rushed through the halls, slipping past exasperated maids and aggravated guards. Then took her favoured short-cut past one of the many unused forges in the Rock, where the fires in the forges were ashen cold and no hammers fell.
As she continued, Joy passed fewer and fewer people. Eventually, her footfalls were the only sounds in that hall, the pads of her well-worn slippers putting very little between the cold stones and her feet.
The girl slipped around a corner and was smashed into the wall, an arm over her throat choked out any pained sounds she would have made. It belonged to someone who seemed a squire.
"Finally, that smart mouth of yours is silent." though without breath, Joy could still recognise this voice. Joanna Lorch, a lady few enjoyed the company of.
Only when Joy's vision started to fade did she order the arm removed.
Joy fell to her knees, gasping for breath as she struggled to keep from falling further.
"I didn't appreciate what you said to me yesterday, bastard. I would like an apology." the older girl demanded, much in the same way cousin Cersei would, but without any of her grace or authority.
Make it your armour.
"I'm certain you would, but we bastards are cruel by nature. I can't find it within myself to do so." Joy said, with all the false innocence she could muster. Which wasn't much, she needed practise.
"It seems I cannot convince you with words." Lorch sighed, "Gerold, see to her." She commanded the young squire.
His foot swiftly slammed into her belly, knocking out her breath and leaving her writhing on the floor.
"Are you ready to apologise?" she asked, looking down her nose at Joy.
Once she found her breath, she choked out the words "A good kick, Gerold, you'll make a fine knight. I hear beating little girls is very brave these days." they didn't have the desired effect. Instead of causing him to waver, Joy's words only seemed to anger the squire.
His next kick came faster and harder, with little prompting from Lorch. It cracked her in the ribs, the next came not a half-second later crashing into her navel. Through squinted eyes, Joy saw the next coming for her face.
"That's enough, can't have people seeing it." but the older girl stopped it. "Have you finally come to your senses?" she asked again, with the same tone one would use to ask for a pastry.
Joy coughed, her throat felt too wet. "My lady is merciful, leaving this Lannister bastard's face unmarred." and there it was, both their eyes wavered.
Take advantage. Her uncle would say.
"I'm sure uncle Tywin would appreciate the courtesy." those words, said so genuinely, hammered it home.
"It is time to go, Gerold. I mustn't be late for the circle because of a mere bastard." Lorch said, turning away from where Joy had climbed to her knees, and walking away. The squire jogged to catch up, but found the time to throw her a glare over his shoulder.
Joy stayed there a moment. She had to change her routes, this was the third time someone had ambushed her like this. Since uncle Tyrion and aunt Genna left the other girls have gotten brave, and the longer they go without punishment the less effect invoking her uncle's feared name would have.
A moment later, Joy got to her feet, cleaned herself up as best she could, and continued to her next lesson.
"You are late, young Joy." Septa Ella chastised.
"Apologies, septa." Joy said, making excuses to most septons and septas would only make her situation worse. Certain teachings from the Faith were not good for her.
"See to it that this doesn't happen again." the septa said, eyes trying to bore holes in Joy.
Complying with a curtsy and sitting in the only available chair. Which happened to sit between Elenda Lefford and Lynora Yew, both girls distant cousins of their houses' main line.
Joy took up the needle and cloth from the short table before her, then got to work.
She let her hands work on their own, sewing something of suitably middling quality, and chatted with the girls around her. It went well, until Joy got too bold.
"Lynora, I heard your family visited recently. How are your brothers as of late?" Joy asked, hiding the near-instant self-recrimination.
"They are quite well, Addam's finally been knighted and Serwyn has succeeded in his first hunt." Lynora replied with that slightly crooked smile of hers.
Joy managed to see the predatory flash in Lorch's eyes right before it came. "Hunting for a husband already, Joy? It would seem early for a girl your age, although I have heard a certain turn of phrase... what was it?" the older girl, a mask of gentle contemplation perfectly in place. "Ah! It was, 'Bastards grow up faster than trueborn children'. So, I suppose that it should be expected from you. " though she let her hatred slip out at the end, Joanna Lorch's words were well conceived.
The bastard would have to respond just right.
"Indeed, it seems that I have surpassed you in terms of maturity." oh, the hatred in her eyes. Joy truly would have to change her routes.
_1st day, 3rd moon_
Joy was half-way to the Godswood when she heard something.
Looking down, she saw that it came from a small golden furred ball. Slowly, it unfurled and revealed what it was. A cat, though its ears were strange and limbs slightly large.
The girl kneeled down to its level as it stretched out its back, "Hello there, what are you doing here?" she asked, petting its flank and scratching it behind the ears.
In return, the cat simply yowled up to her and leaned into her touch. Joy smiled, not the false one she often showed, but the rare true one.
She moved to stand, but as her hands left it the cat nipped and licked at her fingers. Convinced to stay a bit longer, Joy made herself comfortable and petted away.
Over time, the small beast made its way into her lap and curled up again. Soon, its soft purrs turned to light snores as it fell asleep.
With a light giggle, Joy gently took the golden bundle into her arms and continued on her way to the Godswood.
She was only a few turns away when she heard the shuffle of slippers, and the tapping of boots.
The cat was quickly roused and hidden inside one of the many rich cabinets.
"You must be a terrible student, you insolent bastard. For you seem incapable of learning your lesson." Lorch said, as she rounded the corner squire in tow.
Joy was about to retort, when the squire pulled on her blouse and slammed a fist into her gut. "Keep." another struck the wind out of her, "Your." the third forced Joy to her knees, "Smart mouth." a kick to the shoulder forced her to the ground with a choked cry, "Closed." a second kick took her on the flank pushed her into the stones.
"Another beating, aren't you creati-" her words turned into a wheeze as the squire pushed harder with his foot.
"Oh Joy, you would be so very pretty, if only it wasn't for that sharp tongue of yours." with a sudden contemplative look, Lorch turned from Joy to the squire.
"Your dagger." she demanded, one hand already up and open.
It was hard from her place on the floor, but Joy could both see and feel the boy's trepidation. Sadly, he gave in and handed Lorch the blade.
As the squire forced her into a kneeling position, Joy panicked. She struggled and screamed, but no one could hear since few other than her ever went to the Godswood. Through her fear all she could see was Lorch's gleeful face.
Suddenly, with a cry of pain, the hands holding her in place released her and Joy scrambled to her feet.
"Shit!" the squire cried, holding his ankle with blood seeping between his fingers.
Joy ran and ran, barely noticing the pitter patter next to her.
She only stopped once her legs gave out from under her, leaving Joy panting and coughing on her hands and knees. As her breathing steadied, a little furred head poked around her until it found her face.
The cat mewled at her, the blood on its snout making it considerably less cute, but Joy couldn't help but kiss its head.
It was then that she noticed something was wrong, but oh so right.
Its eyes, they weren't slitted.
POV Garth, 1st day, 3rd moon, 298 AC
"Now ye see kids, my grandfather was a skilled hedge knight in his youth and had fought for Aegon the Elder in the Dance, he had seen the dragon's fight and die in Tumblton, had watched as his brother was burned by Silverwing after she went wild." Old Denys, the resident storyteller, told the children.
Old Denys was the eldest man in Red Lake, having reached the incredible age of 67. The great majority of the man's family members were hedge knights, bards or journeymen and all in the past five generations had told Denys their stories. So, the old man came to the inn every second night, sat in the soft leather chair gifted to the man by a grateful bandit leader not two years past, and told all the children a story.
The current one was a favorite, Rogar of Cinderfall and his attempt to avenge his little brother.
"So, after visiting me ma and pa here in Red Lake, he had a fisherman take him to the island that Silverwing was rumoured to have claimed." he continued, the blazing fire in the hearth making his white hair glow with light.
"He arrived in the late evening, having underestimated how long the journey over the lake would take, but to him the surroundings of his vengeance it made no matter. Whether winter or summer, night or day, as long as he succeeded, he would be content." around him the children were perfectly silent, the only time they ever were really.
"The knight of Cinderfall left the fisherman at the beach of the infamous island and bade him to wait for him. The man agreed, and though the knight doubted the simple fisherman's word, he delved into the island's dark woods and ascended the slope." as he spoke, Old Denys threw one of his many powders into the hearth. The flames dimmed and turned into a dark green, and the old man's hair changed with it.
With a deeper voice, he continued "The path was arduous, and as the sun fell lower in the sky more creatures of the night made themselves known. Soon, a warm gust of wind came upon the knight and with it came the smell of smoke. Ser Rogar knew well what the smell would lead him to... Silverwing ." a small redheaded girl in the front row gasped, putting her tiny hands to her cheeks. Garth could see the smile building in Old Denys, but the storyteller never broke during any of his tellings.
"Ser Rogar quickly broke from the path, and followed the smell. It grew stronger and stronger until... he saw her. The she-dragon laid curled in a clearing, her silver scales glowing in the fading sunlight." another powder was pitched into the flames, and the dark greens shifted to soft red and pink hues.
"The knight crept silently upon the beast, his black longsword pulled from its scabbard without the slightest whisper. Closer and closer, he approached. All while the dragon slept soundly." Old Denys continued softly, tapping his bony fingers to mark the hero's steps.
"Only a few steps from his goal, Ser Rogar stepped on and broke a twig. The sound woke the she-dragon, her great big silver eye stared into his. For a few moments they were both frozen, then the sun set completely and the moon filled the world with its glow." at those words, the story teller threw his third and final powder into the flames. The now silver flames filled the room with their beautiful glow, making Old Denys seem like the father come down.
"Looking into her eyes, Ser Rogar saw not the wild beast that had killed those who had attempted to ride, only one filled with incredible sadness. In them he remembered the sight of her trying in vain to wake Vermithor before she left Tumbleton. As Silverwing rose, the knight saw more of the she-dragon. He saw her starved, emaciated frame. The once great and terrible muscles long gone, the scales over her bones were thin and crumbly. Even her limbs trembled under her own weight." Denys' voice was sad then, so very sad.
"The knight sheathed his sword and walked away. There was no monster there, only a grieving widow best left alone." as the story ended, the flames returned to their normal orange and yellow.
Sensing the story was done, the children all burst out their questions. "Wha' happen' to Silvawing after?" one of the louder, younger children asked.
"She simply let herself pass, joining Vermithor wherever dragons go." he answered sadly.
The children asked more questions as their parents pulled them away, paying Old Denys for the half-dozen stories he told that night. Slowly, Garth made his way over to his best client and asked him some questions of his own. "The powders did well tonight, you haven't been adding anything have you?" he accused the storyteller.
"No, no, oh wise medicine man. I wouldn't dare add anything into your perfect powders." Old Denys said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
A stern stare got Garth the answer he was looking for.
"No, I did nothing to the powders. I used the same amount as usual and everything." the old man revised, seriously this time. "They do, however, seem to simply be doing better today." he added.
"Strange..." it truly was, for he didn't do anything new to them either. "I'll check all my plants. Does anything ail you, Denys? Making certain you become the longest-lived man in Westeros would bring me many buyers." he asked, only half-jesting.
"Other than what you've already given me things fer, no." the storyteller answered, gaze steady as ever.
Garth nodded, and left the storyteller. On his way out of the inn, he was greeted by some of the townspeople. He asked them if they had any need of his services, the few who truly did agreed to visit him after sevensday.
Outside the inn, most of the people went about their day. Though the number was significantly reduced due to it being late evening. The medicine man continued on his way, briefly greeting any who passed by and making certain he did so by name. Just good business that.
Once he left the town, there were far fewer travelers crossing his path. Those few being hunters and woodcutters coming back with their daily hauls. None of those robust men needed his wares.
A little way of the beaten path, a few minutes away from the edge of the lake, and next to a copse of trees sat his family cabin. A long and squat thing with a pointed thatch roof and one small window. Garth when around back and vaulted over the chest high stone fence. A reward from a long dead lord to a long dead ancestor of his for some forgotten act.
The first he checked were the more fragile and demanding plants, flowers and weaker herbs. Then the various beans out in the sun and mushrooms in their hollow log. Finally, he looked over the ferns and tubers.
Nothing was out of the ordinary with any of them, but still something felt strange.
Garth stood from the ferns and stretched out his back, the poor abused thing letting cracks and pops as he did. The medicine man went to the back door of his cabin, but as he took hold of the handle... he felt something pull at him. Turning to face the strange sensation, he looked to his frostfire flowers. They were so very hard to keep in this climate, but he and his line managed.
He approached and kneeled down next to the plant and he somehow felt without touching. Then, in full contradiction of everything he knew about the flowers watched it bloom right before his eyes.
The frostfire bloomed full and red and vibrant, and once it was complete the tugging feeling vanished. Enraptured, Garth turned to another flower, this one a dragon's tongue, and without thinking cupped his hands around the newest bud.
Almost instinctually, the medicine man looked deep within himself and reached for that feeling. After a time he could not count, he found it and pushed. Like the other, this flower bloomed to completion and the connection was severed.
Curious, he turned to a very different sort of plant. Garth stood and walked to the still small weirwood his great aunt brought from her pilgrimage and laid a hand to its narrow trunk.
Again, he giddily searched for the feeling, this time finding it quite slowly. As though the plant was resisting him, regardless he pushed through and caught it. Then pushed and in his hands the tree grew wider and before his eyes it grew taller.
When it had grown a full head taller than him, he severed the connection. Well, he tried.
His elation gone, he tried again. Then once more, with more concentration, but still the tree grew. His knees began to grow weak.
Garth panicked and ripped his hands from the trunk, but they wouldn't budge. He pulled and pulled and only achieved pain in his shoulders.
Black spots danced in his vision while his head went light as a feather, still the tree grew.
He fell to his knees, still squirming as much as he could.
Then he stilled and fought no more.
POV Mya, 21th day, 2nd moon, 298
"Hush you." Mya scolded the mule, rubbing down the willful animal's neck.
She and the company of mules had been waiting at the base of the climb for the past hour, having been standing at the ready ever since the lookout reported that Lady Lysa and her household was supposedly half an hour away.
She would have to give the boy a piece of her mind.
Then, faintly, Mya managed to hear the grind and creak of the portcullis opening. Swiftly, the bastard prepared all her charges, making sure they were all calm and not going to bite any fingers or cave in any chests.
She then rushed over to the yard and just caught the end of the conversation, "-immediately, Lord Royce!" it was the Lady Lysa, it was difficult to forget such a voice. Try as she might.
"Very well, my lady." Lord Nestor replied, just as the man had practised for Lady Lysa and not at all as the man who raised her usually spoke.
"The mules are already prepared, my lord, my lady." Mya told the pair, they always had at least five ready whenever highborn came.
"Excellent, young Mya shall guide you and your children up the Lance, my lady." Lord Nestor said, gesturing towards her.
"It will be my honour to guide you up, my lady." Mya said, making sure to curtsy. An unpracticed movement that barely passed thanks to Lord Nestor's drills since they received word.
The Lady Lysa looked to her with the clear distain Mya was long accustomed to as she gently readjusted the boy in her arms, which earned a whine from, who she assumed to be, the young Lord Robert. Isn't he six?
She then pushed past Mya, a little blond girl who could only be little Lady Alyssa following behind like a shy duckling.
Mya quickly caught up with Lady Lysa, a measter, a handmaid and a guard following behind her.
They all followed the lady as she passed through the halls with laboured breaths. Thankfully, for her ears at least, they quickly reached the upper bailey. "These will be our mounts until we reach Stone." Mya said, gesturing to all her charges.
As Lady Lysa, still carrying Lord Robert, approached the white one Mya said that "Whitey is the surest of foot, but likes to kick. I would suggest for my lady to ride Billy." she finished by pointing to the dirt brown mule.
She sniffed, but took the bastard's advice and mounted Billy. Lord Robert nestled against his mother's bosom face first, making strange noises.
Mya watched as little Alyssa walked up to Whitey, and when no one else said anything she did, "Careful, my lady, he'll kick if he doesn't like you." the poor thing almost seemed to jump at her words, looking at her with sad and wary eyes. "But I'm sure he'll adore you." Mya said, punctuating with a wink.
The little girl's eyes widened so much that her blue eyes almost glowed. With far more courage than before, she walked closer to the opinionated mule and patted the beast's shoulder.
"I would take care in how you speak to Lady Alyssa, Lady Lysa cares not for those who give her more attention than necessary." the guard whispered to her, his eyes anywhere but on her or the little girl saying childish nothings to the mule.
Before she could reply or question, he walked away and mounted the rear mule, Peony. All the others did the same, leaving only Whitey. None made any moves to take up Lady Alyssa.
Confused, Mya mounted the white mule and pulled a mystified blonde up and into the saddle. She then took the lead and drove Whitey to the postern gate, while a guard, Sam, opened it. "Some find it better to close their eyes, should they get frightened or dizzy they tend to hold the reins too hard. The mules don't like that." she informed them, ignoring any proud responses. If they didn't listen then they'd learn the mistake of that eventually.
As they rode into the dark forest, little Alyssa reached back and grasped the ends of Mya's cloak. She then pulled it tight around her small form, pressing her back against the bastard's front.
"What's your name?" the little lady asked suddenly.
"Mya Stone, my lady." She answered smoothly.
The little girl let out a displeased noise, "Am Alyssa, so call me Alyssa." she said, as resolute as such a young child can be.
"Very well, Alyssa." Mya answered playfully, which pleased the little lady, if the excited hum was any indication.
Not a moment later, Alyssa asked her a question. "Mi, have you bee to the Pink Keep?" the Pink Keep? There's no... Ah, I guess the Red Keep looks more pink than red.
"I can't say I have." Mya said, she'd never even left the Mountain.
"Papa said is bigger than the Eory, but less im-pe-reggo-na-ble." she started, then quickly went off to something else. "Ah ah, one time I found this dark tunnel-" Alyssa threw herself into telling Mya all she knew about the Red Keep, from Maegor's holdfast to the basements and the occasional weird tunnel her father told her to keep away from.
Since nearly every aspect of the climb up the mountain was ingrained in her memory, the bastard could truly focus on the little girl's words. Her story telling could use some practise, but it was sufficient for her to learn from. This was the first time anyone other than Lord Nestor or Mychel had really take the time to talk to her, most just lusting after her or dismissing her due to her station. So, Mya spent the effort to show Alyssa she was truly listening, making affirmatory noises and asking questions.
This seemed to truly make the girl happy, her joy somehow causing her to look even brighter.
Before they knew it, they reached Waycastle Stone. "Here we are." she said, slipping the words while Alyssa finally breathed between stories. "Oi!" Mya shouted, and the ironbound gate swung open.
She led the party in and dismounted, the movement turned awkward by Alyssa's refusal to extricate herself.
Mya simply stood there and waited for the next group of mules to arrive, one of the other caretakers would bring them, with the little lady holding herself in place. "Then Ser Hugh had to run me back to the Papa Tower and-" suddenly, Alyssa's words seemed to freeze in her throat.
Following the little lady's gaze, Mya found the reason why.
It was Lord Robert, his entire body was shaking violently. Lady Lysa was trying to hold him still, pressing him tight against herself, but whatever lose limbs would lash out and strike her. Without any hesitation the maester pulled out a wineskin, uncorked it and coaxed the contents into the boy's mouth and down his throat.
The jerking and shaking slowly weakened, then Lord Robert stilled completely. The only sign of life being the slow, reedy breaths the boy took.
"We will be staying the night!" Lady Lysa ordered, wrenching herself up with her son in arm.
Around her, all the servants rushed to follow the lady's command. All while Mya stood there, with the sullen, silent girl.
It took a long time for the pall over Alyssa to fall away, when it did Mya took the blond on a tour of the Waycastle. The bastard brought the little lady to see the walls and their iron spikes, the sarcastic smith at work, the servant's quarters and the small library. Then they visited the main hall and kitchens.
"Skew-ers?" the little lady asked, her confusion clear on her face.
"Yes, Alyssa. Have you never had any before?" Mya asked, smiling indulgently.
Putting her hands to her cheeks, Alyssa hummed in thought for a long moment. Then shook her head, "Are they good?" she asked.
Taking a pair from the smiling cook, Mya gave one of the beef and onion skewers to the little lady. "See for yourself." she told her.
Alyssa took it tentatively, then violently tore off one of the smaller pieces of meat of the stick. She chewed slowly, but soon sped up with a happy hum.
Confident in their being to problems, Mya turned away from the small girl and started on her own skewer.
She'd only reached her second chunk of meat when she felt a hand pull at her cloak. Glancing down, Mya saw Alyssa, cheeks covered in grease, holding a bare stick and looking up at her with big eyes.
Mya quickly gave in to her pleading look and gave the girl the rest of her skewer.
Alyssa happily took it and dug in, savaging Mya's meal.
Once she finished, the little lady returned the sticks to the bastard with a toothy grin. Smiling at her, Mya took them and discreetly tossed them.
Outside the sky was turning orange as the sun fell, Mya thought it over and came to a decision. "It's getting late, let's get you to bed." she told the girl, while she ushered her out of the small corner they took in the kitchen and into the hall.
"But why? Am not tired, and I want to stay with you, Mi." Alyssa almost whined
"Because the sun is getting low and we must get ready early on the morrow." Mya explained.
"Can we ride together?" the girl asked, retreating into herself in a way the bastard recognised. She was preparing for disappointment.
"Of course, we can." She said cheekily, which quickly brought the girl back to being herself.
Mya quickly cornered a maid and asked her about the location of Alyssa's room, she was quickly answered and the bastard escorted the lady to her room.
She opened the door and bid Alyssa goodnight, it seemed odd to her that such a young girl would have the room to herself. Mya supposed it was simply another case of highborn strangeness.
A rapping at her chamber door ripped Mya back into full consciousness. Looking out between the shutters she saw that it was the hour of the wolf.
Must be some guard or hand thinking of visiting me.
She'll have to show them their mistake.
With a grunt, Mya threw off her blankets and got to her feet. Again, there was rap-tap-tapping upon her door.
Mya pushed her hair out of her face, cracked her neck, and opened the door.
"Wha-" she started, but there was no one there.
"Mi..." a meek voice called.
Looking down, Mya saw little Alyssa. The lady was standing there, hugging a pillow in her arms with a blanket hanging from her shoulders. "Canna sleep with you?" she asked with a sniff.
The bastard sighed and guided the girl in, "What's wrong, couldn't sleep?" Mya groggily asked.
"Me an' papa always shared, but now papa left an-and am scared." Alyssa answered, shuffling into the room.
Mya sat down on the straw stuffed mattress and swung her legs on, "And why didn't you go to your mama's room?" she asked, lying down as she did so.
Alyssa tossed up her pillow before answering, "Mama doesn't like it when I in-ter-rude on her and Rob." she said, climbing her way onto the slightly elevated bed.
"Goodnight, Alyssa." Mya said, sighing both tiredly and sadly.
"Night, Mi." the little one answered, curling into Mya's side.
_1st day, 3rd moon _
"MI! You came!" Alyssa shouted, running up to her and tackling her leg.
"I said I would visit, didn't I, Alyssa?" Mya said with a smirk.
The little lady hummed happily and took hold of the bastard's hand, then bounced up and down, "Did you see the towers? How were they built? How'd they get the stones up? MAGIC?" the questions came on like rain in a thunderstorm.
As Mya went to answer, Alyssa grabbed her other hand and tugged. A pained yelp saw the girl release it instantly.
"I'm sorry!" she almost yelled, her face filled with childish yet genuine concern.
"It's alright, it's not your fault. I hurt myself with one of the new mules." she said, it truly wasn't Alyssa's fault.
"Where." the little lady asked, nearly pouting while her brows were still furrowed.
Bemused, Mya pointed to her wounded forearm, to the cuts hidden under her leathers.
Alyssa quickly, but gently, took hold of her wrist and elbow. Then simply kissed where she had pointed.
"Papa always kissed my hurts. Feel better, Mi?" the girl explained.
"Yes, all better. Thank you very much, Alyssa." Mya said, and strangely enough it wasn't a lie. She could barely feel it now.
The little lady preened under the praise, grinning so hard her eyes closed.
"Let's go get a snack, I haven't eaten since Snow." Mya suggested, much to Alyssa's obvious joy.
As the girl led the way to the kitchen, Mya finally caved into the urge, pulling off her glove and shoving her sleeve back.
The bite marks were gone.
POV Hatchling, 1st day, 3rd moon, 298 AC
All she had ever known was the cold.
Though, that was not strictly true. She had been warm once, but only briefly and so long ago. It was an incredible feeling to have, to feel like she was enveloped in... in something. Though it came along with a pull in her soul.
But that was a long time ago, so long she had forgotten what it felt like. The warmth and pull alike.
So, she only knows the cold and the stillness of nothing.
Then... she felt something. A stirring in her center that brought half those age-old feelings of heat rushing back to her. As she reveled in the in the long-lost touch, she felt strength well up from the warmth and she started to squirm. As she did so, she discovered that something was holding her in place. Enraged by this limitation placed upon her, she pushed against it with all her might.
Her prison held fast around her, but that only stoked the flames of her newfound rage. She pushed harder, writhing as she did the best she could.
Then something gave way with a sharp crack and light blinded her mercilessly. Its strength pained her enough to force a cry from her.
The agony soon faded and the light followed just behind it. She ignored the sights around her in favour of finally shattering her binds.
Enfeebled by the break in its form made it so that when she pushed again, the once hard prison burst around her. She collapsed over the hardness under her, her mighty limps tired by their monumental effort.
She allowed a moment to pass, then commanded her limps to move under her. It took them a moment to obey, but in the end they did. Her forelimbs were large and awkward and the rear ones had not yet recovered enough to make up the difference. Suddenly howl sounded from above, causing her body to shiver and tremble.
With a growl she forced them to cease and then, using her long neck, whipped her head up to look at what was insolent enough interrupt her musing. But there was nothing, and after a few seconds passed she allowed the coward its escape.
Movement was strange, pulling her unruly limbs along while also keeping from falling on her snout as she did so. Thankfully her long tail assisted with her balance.
Once the secret behind lateral movement was revealed to her, she graced her surroundings with her eyes.
She found them wanting. Everything around her was a dull grey-black, the stones under her, the crags that rose around her and even the sky.
The colours of it all were dreadfully boring, unlike her own. From what she could see, her scales were varying shades of purple. Her fore claws were a shade so deep and dark that they bordered on black. From there they paled going up her limb, though not by much. The leathery skin of her wings an even middling shade and her chest slightly darker than that.
Snorting contemptibly at the land and sky, she shook herself out and wandered forward. She crawled until she reached the edge of a large cliff.
The hatchling gazed over the scenery, noting that the grey landscape continued here as well. Even further was the sea, a chaotic, frothy, dark blue mess. As she stared into the distance, something on the stones caught her eye.
Flashes of various colours among the grey, small things much like her. With similar wings and legs and tails, but so obviously lesser.
Then she felt the hunger.