Chapter 11

~Alysanne~

When she and her family had been brought to the Dreadfort, Lord von Carstein hadn't seemed to know or care where they ended up, leaving it up to the castellan, Martyn Cassel, the same knight from the fight. Rodrick was too young to be given much work but Arya had been assigned as lady-in-waiting to Lyanna Stark. Alysanne had been shocked at that, her daughter was working with the sister of their lord's lord, that was far above anything she had ever envisioned for Arya's future. Alysanne could have been assigned to clean out the castle's privies after that and she wouldn't have minded but the gods continued to favor her because she had been told to assist in the kitchens. It had been a bit hard in the beginning, not due to a lack of cooking skills, Brandon and their children had never complained about that, but because she wasn't used to preparing food for so many people every day. But she had adjusted and could honestly say she was content with her situation, even if she still missed her husband horribly.

When she had been selected by the maester to assist with a task that Lord von Carstein considered important, she had been happy to help. Over the past two moon turns, Maester Garth had been traveling to the nearby villages and developing a method to turn certain kinds of tree sap into a sweet food topping. He had succeeded to an extraordinary degree because one taste was all it took for Alysanne to understand why their lord wanted this, it was delicious, unlike anything she had ever had before. What the maester needed Alysanne for was to prepare a very specific meal their lord had requested, which she had done with gusto. She had made a stack of hotcakes alongside several strips of turkey meat and a chicken egg she had cooked and diced, and brought the food to Lord von Carstein's solar, with the maester carrying a large mug of chilled milk in one hand and a pitcher of the tree sap in the other.

When the pair was given leave to enter the room, Lord von Carstein was seated behind his desk in a rather undignified pose. His bare feet were up, resting on the desk, and he had tilted the chair back so it was balanced on just two legs while he read a book. The way he sat looked so unlordly that Alysanne had nearly paused when she entered the solar, only barely moving quickly enough to prevent the maester from running into her from behind.

Brandon would sit like that when he was sharpening tools at the end of the day.

Alysanne had been in for an even bigger shock when she and the maester had been told to sit down while their lord tasted the food and he had removed the cloth from his face.

Is he a demon? Half fish? A sorcerer from some far off land whose ancestors mated with monsters?

She tried not to stare. Partially because it sent shivers up her spine seeing teeth like that but also because she didn't know if Lord von Carstein would take offense. Alysanne kept her eyes focused on a bookshelf behind her lord's head while he talked, so far he was just asking questions about the tree sap and the maester was responding. She hadn't gotten to know the maester too well from their limited interactions but she could still tell the man was trying hard to hide his fear. His speech kept stuttering and he was constantly moving in his seat.

"You told me the maple syrup tasted sweet, so that means you probably made it correctly.," Lord von Carstein said with a grin, rubbing his hands together. "No more stalling, time to eat."

Please be good, please be good. Alysanne prayed, first to the Old Gods and then she moved on to the Seven. She didn't know much about the New Gods but she would take any divine blessings she could get. She vaguely saw her lord pour some of the tree sap on the hotcakes, heard the scrap of the knife against the plate as he cut a piece, and was aware of his arm lifting the food to his face. She closed her eyes. Please be good.

"My-my lord, is the food alright? You appear to be crying."

Alysanne felt her whole body lock up at the maester's words. Crying? My cooking is so bad he's crying?! Her eyes popped open to see her lord's face and, sure enough, he had tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He was smiling though and had some tree sap dripping from his mouth down onto his chin. Smiling is good, right? Maybe we won't die today.

"The food is fine Garth," Lord von Carstein said after he swallowed. It took an oddly long time for him to do so. He used a finger to wipe the tree sap from his face and sucked it clean. "It's better than fine actually, the pancake, the syrup. . . it's just like my mom used to make my brother and I when we were young. It - it reminds me of home."

The longing in his voice, the amount of emotion she heard in that final word, it was almost enough to make her forget her lord looked like the kind of monster she would tell stories to her children about to make them behave. In that moment, he was just someone in a foreign land, thinking about and missing his mother.

"Oh, well that's good," Maester Garth said.

Their lord nodded and looked down at the plate of food. His smile was sad as he cut another piece of the hotcake and brought it to his mouth. He gave a quiet groan as he chewed, which considering his smile remained Alysanne took as yet another sign that he enjoyed the food. I didn't overcook the hotcakes did I? He's chewing for quite a bit.

"So are you the one who cooked all this?"

It took Alysanne a moment to realize Lord von Carstein was addressing her. "Um, yes. Maester Garth came to the kitchens looking for someone to prepare the meal exactly as specified and I was available at the time."

"You did an amazing job. Do you know a lot of recipes?"

She tried to avoid visibly preening at the praise and instead answered his question as honestly as she could, "I know some, but I don't think most of my food is good for a lord. I'm still learning from Walder in the kitchens, he came from Winterfell and knows how to make such food."

It was important to stay humble when it came to dealing with lords and to not make a promise she couldn't keep. The last thing she wanted was Lord von Carstein expecting high quality levels of food on a consistent basis from her. She had been able to prepare this meal because she had been given specific instructions on what he wanted, that did not mean she'd be able to do that for every meal, not yet.

"Well, with maple syrup now being an available ingredient you're going to have to experiment and figure out new recipes. Or maybe just take the one's Walder knows and replace the honey or sugar in the instructions and see how things turn out. Actually, that reminds me." Lord von Carstein turned to look at the maester. "How much maple syrup did you end up making from the first batch?"

Garth pointed at the pitcher on the desk. "Just that, my lord."

Torrhen shook his head in shock and regarded the tree sap with wide eyes. "Just that?!"

"Ye-yes, my lord. Boiling the tree sap causes quite the reduction. It took nearly fifty gallons of it to make that."

"FIFTY GALLONS?!" Alysanne flinched as Lord von Carstein yelled. There didn't seem to be much anger in his voice, but a yelling nobleman rarely resulted in good things. Fortunately for both her and the maester, their lord just stared open-mouthed at the pitcher of tree sap before quietly saying, "Fuck."

"I was surprised as well at how large a reduction it was, my lord," Garth said but quickly switched his tone, adopting a bit of forced cheer. "But we are probably the first people in Westeros to ever successfully make food from tree sap so I feel we should consider this a victory. We can iterate the process over the coming years and I'm sure we will see improvement."

Lord von Carstein looked at the maester, the pitcher, and then his plate of food. "You know what? You're right, Garth. We have to stay positive and think long term." He grabbed the pitcher and poured some more over top of the hot cakes. "That should be enough. Alysanne, take this back to the kitchens. Everyone who works there needs to get a taste of it. Then I want you all to start discussing ideas on what type of meals it could be used in. Have someone who can write to make a list, or get Garth to do it. That way we'll have more selling points when we take this stuff to market."

"Shall I do that now, my lord?"

"I'd feel weird if you two just sat here and watched me eat, so yes."

Alysanne and Maester Garth both stood up from their chairs and gave short bows and moved to leave the solar, though she made sure to grab the pitcher of tree sap before doing so. That went well.

Just as they were about to exit the room, Lord von Carstein's voice stopped them, rumbling with an air of menace that Alysanne had not heard from him before. "By the way, not many people know what I look like. I've extended a level of trust to you both by showing you my face, I hope the trust wasn't misplaced."

Alysanne froze, unsure of what to say. Maester Garth turned slowly around to look at their lord. "You can trust us to keep your secret my lord." Not trusting her voice at the moment, Alysanne nodded along with the maester's words.

"Glad to hear it," Lord von Carstein said in a much more cheerful tone. "You two have a nice day."

The pair left the solar and, once the door was firmly closed behind them, both let out long breaths.

"Don't," Maester Garth began but trailed off. He seemed to think of his words before trying again. "Don't tell anyone about what you saw in there."

"I won't. Lord von Carstein has been good to me and my family, he told me to be quiet and I shall." How much of what Alysanne was saying was just to protect herself and how much was truth, she honestly didn't know.

The maester nodded. "Good, good. If you do feel the need to talk about it, come find me when I'm alone. But otherwise yes, it would be best if we obeyed our lord."

Raising the pitcher for emphasis Alysanne said, "I should take the tree sap to the kitchens. Lord von Carstein gave me a task to complete."

"I'll grab some parchment and a quill from my quarters and then meet you there. Though you should have noticed Lord von Carstein kept calling it maple syrup, it's not tree sap anymore."

~Doran Martell~

He had gone to bed in a bad mood and woke up in an even worse one. While Doran was willing to admit that the former was his own fault, he had too high of expectations when it came to how quickly Oberyn would be able to get agreeable peace terms for Dorne in King's Landing, but he felt he was perfectly justified in the latter. After all, no one wants to be woken up just before dawn by every single raven in the Sunspear rookery shrieking at the same time.

Shrieking really was the only way to describe the sound too. It wasn't as if they had all decided to merely caw at each other and not shut up. No, the birds had been screaming like a predator was attacking their nest and had continued making noise for a number of minutes. All of a raven's predators, hawks, owls, and the like, had learned to stay away from the rookery since the guards were under orders to shoot any bird that got near that tower so it probably wasn't that, which raised the question as to what was the cause of the noise.

So while Mellario had gone back to sleep once the ravens had quieted down, Doran, as the Lord of Sunspear, did not allow himself that luxury. He had gotten dressed and was making his way through his castle. It wasn't normally that long of a walk from his chambers to the rookery but given how much Doran wanted to be back in bed, holding his wife as he drifted off to sleep, the hallways just seemed to stretch on forever.

Maybe one of the guards I sent ahead to investigate will return before I get there and can explain things. . .although depending on the answer I might need to go there anyway. Doran sighed to himself. That's a lie, this is an unusual enough of an occurrence I'll want to see things regardless of the explanation.

"Prince Martell," a guard called as he hurried up to Doran. "Maester Caleotte said you should come to the rookery."

"That's where-" Doran's response was interrupted as a yawn forced itself out of his mouth. Once it passed he tried again, "That's where I was heading. Did he say why?"

"No, my prince. My apologies for not asking."

Doran waved a hand dismissively. "Do not worry about it. Follow me for now."

The pair continued the trek through the Old Palace until they finally reached their destination. Fighting off yet another yawn, Doran ordered the guard to wait outside the door while he went inside. The room, while not small, felt cramped due to the walls being covered by shelves of caged ravens. The birds were all awake and appeared a bit frantic in their movements, hopping about in their cages with some of them plucking at their feathers, but at least they were not making a cacophony of noise like before.

Caleotte was sitting on a stool, motionless, staring out a window-

What the fuck?

There was a fluffy owl sitting on the windowsill. It was staring back at Caleotte, the feathers on its face coming together in a V between its eyes giving the impression that it was glaring at the maester.

That is clearly a horned owl but I've never seen one with that coloration before. Most large birds in Dorne had sandy or muddy feathers, enabling them to better hide in the terrain. This owl was a mixture of greys and dark browns, with some hints of white on its neck.

"Caleotte?" Doran asked.

"Prince Doran," Caleotte said, not taking his eyes off the bird. "I located the cause of why the ravens made such a racket."

"I can see that. Why is it still here?"

"I managed to chase it to the window but it refuses to leave."

Doran was getting annoyed that his maester still hadn't looked at him. I agree that the owl is not acting normal but what's so interesting about it?

Caleotte, seemingly aware of his lord's thoughts, continued, "I've been keeping careful watch of the bird since it settled down there. While I have not made a study of owls I know that this one should have blinked by now and it doesn't appear to be breathing. I think it may be dead."

Torrhen's use of Soves had been seen and heard by basically everyone in Sunspear. That being said, most people didn't know the story behind the undead dragon and many, many tales are sprung up. Balerion the Black Dread had risen from the grave to spirit Elia and Rhaenys from King's Landing but had demanded Aegon's life as a sacrifice, Prince Rhaegar had transformed into a dragon upon his defeat at the Trident and flown to rescue his family and brought them to Dorne before finally succumbing to his wounds, Aerys's anger at being killed by one of his own Kingsguard at sent his soul into a dragon skeleton and the only way he could get revenge on the Lannisters was to keep potential hostages out of their hands. The stories only got more convoluted once Torrhen had gifted the dragon kite to the Martell family. Doran hadn't bothered trying to enforce a single specific narrative and had instead ordered those that knew the truth to be silent and let the rumors and stories grow. Caleotte was one such person, he knew as much about Torrhen's situation as Doran did, so if he thought the owl was dead this wasn't a servant jumping at shadows, this was a serious possibility.

"Has it done anything else since you arrived? Any clue as to why it's here?"

Caleotte slowly shook his head without taking his eyes off the owl. He raised an arm and pointed at a nearby table. "When I entered the room it was sitting there. It was not scared of me and only moved to the window when I struck it, that was what alerted me that it was not normal."

Doran hummed in thought as he examined the table. There was a stack of strips of parchment next to a quill and an inkwell for writing messages for the ravens to carry. There were some recent grooves in spots across its surface, scratches from the owl landing on it no doubt. What caught Doran's attention was the pair of parchment tubes that were laying there. Human messengers were dispatched when the letter was too long or detailed to fit onto the small scraps that ravens could carry and these tubes were what was typically used to protect the parchment from the weather. There was no reason for such a pair of items to be in the rookery of all places.

Wait. . . Doran glanced back at the owl. It was more or less the same size as a raven but its build was completely different, bigger feet, bigger claws, different wings. And if it's undead then it shouldn't get tired, at least that's what Torrhen said about Arthur.

Doran grabbed one tube and popped it open, nestled inside was a rolled up piece of parchment. Pulling it out, he saw it was still sealed with wax though the sigil was not one he recognized, a human skull with a pair of crossed bones beneath the jaw. Written along the outside of the scroll was a name, Arianne Martell.

Why is Torrhen sending a message to my daughter?

Doran quickly checked the other tube and found a similar sized parchment, this one addressed to him. He broke the seal and unrolled the message.

Prince Doran Nymeros Martell,

Given the sheer distance between our homes I decided this owl would be a more effective use of time than asking my maester to train a raven to fly across all of Westeros. It won't come back until you hand it both messenger tubes, feel free to take as long as you wish to compose a response. I am curious about how long the trip takes so please be sure to write down both the day it arrived and when you send it back so I can compare flight times. Along those lines, are there any issues with message-by-owl I should be aware of? I haven't told my maester the extent of my condition yet so I can't ask him about potential problems that someone versed in ravenry might know about. I assume it should be safe though, how many predators does a full grown owl even have after all?

I wrote two letters, one of which you are currently reading, the other is for Arianne since she guilted me into staying in touch with her. Before I left she asked about me coming back down Sunspear or her visiting the Dreadfort. I told her at the time, reiterated in my letter to her, and am telling you that I am unlikely to leave the North for a number of years. There is simply too much for me to do. However, I extend an open invitation to Arianne, you, and the rest of your family should anyone wish to come up. I will admit to you privately that I don't think your daughter truly grasped how different the North is when I was explaining it to her, just something for you to be aware of.

Even if none of your family decides to visit, you should send an envoy up in a few years. While we're still working on getting the production pipeline running properly, I'm positive we will have some luxurious trade goods ready to sell in a semi-reasonable timeframe. Admittedly, I have no idea if there will be a market for them in Dorne but it would have been rude to not give you a heads up.

How are things going in King's Landing? I ask out of curiosity, not because I have any advice to give. I did what I could to help out while I was there but at this point we're rapidly getting beyond my realm of knowledge. I don't have all the answers. I feel like Oberyn and Robert will either get along amazingly or horribly which could drastically swing the outcome. Hopefully, Dorne doesn't get screwed too badly in the peace talks.

Since I have the space available, there's a few random topics I feel like discussing.

Firstly: are you aware that gout is, by and large, not something smallfolk are ever afflicted with? I've heard various theories about how it's the gods' way of ensuring the nobility stay humble or other such nonsense. To my knowledge, gout is caused by a combination of lack of exercise and a diet heavy in meat and wine. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Has the kite been working out? I hope Jeyne and Morgan are getting plenty of business from customers wanting one after seeing your dragon. They had been quite skeptical about the project when I first explained it to them but went along with it and I'd hate to see them not able to properly reap the rewards of their hard work. Along those lines, I had a much simpler one made in King's Landing and gave it to Robert so don't expect Dorne to hold a monopoly on the idea for long.

By the way, while it's a long trip have you considered sending criminals to the Wall? I realize it isn't just the time and distance, but also the cost of the travel that means very few Dornishmen end up there. But speaking as a Northerner, the Wall could always use more men. Maybe I could shoulder the cost of transporting men there or something else. Let me know your thoughts on the matter.

How much of a navy does Dorne have? Given your proximity to the Stepstones I would assume piracy and slave raiders would be an issue but I don't recall seeing many boats when I was in Sunspear. Given all the Rhoynish descendants that are living in Dorne, I would have thought you'd have a higher than average number of people that want to become sailors.

Why are Valyrian steel blades always solid Valyrian steel? Considering the rarity of the metal, could a sword be made of normal steel and then given a Valyrian steel edge? I realize the chances of you knowing are probably quite small. I asked my maester and my new blacksmith about it recently and they didn't know so it's going to bug me until I find an answer. I wish I had thought about it when I was in King's Landing, I heard rumors a smith there knows how to work Valyrian steel so it is likely he'd know the answer.

Anyway, enough of my rambling.

Best Regards,
Torrhen von Carstein, Lord of the Dreadfort

"Caleotte, the owl is indeed from Torrhen. You don't need to stare at it, his message said it will remain here until we give it our responses."

As the maester turned, a confused expression on his face, Doran shook the parchment in his hand and gestured at the other on the table.

"Oh, I must have missed those in my haste to protect the ravens. My apologies, my prince."

"Do not worry about it, as a maester you were right to see to the birds' safety first." Doran sighed and regarded Torrhen's message. "There's a lot here that bares thinking about. He claims to lack knowledge but mentions oddly specific topics and even requests a task from us. It's possible he worded it as he did merely in the event that someone else got a hold of this."

"Given what we did for Lyanna, what else could he wish for?"

"Truthfully, nothing too difficult. He wishes to locate a specific blacksmith in King's Landing to ask him questions regarding Valyrian steel. Given that numerous loyal Dornishmen are currently in the capital, it would not be difficult to request one of them look into the matter. But then again, given that we were on the losing side of the war and were married into the royal family, having someone asking around for information about Valyrian steel could give people the wrong idea."

"That would be a problem," Caleotte agreed. "Perhaps wait until after the peace is finalized?"

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I'm too tired to make a decision right now." Doran paused and rubbed his eyes. "Despite that, I know my mind is now too frantic to let me go back to sleep."

"Torrhen's words troubled you that much, my prince?"

"While the letter does occupy my thoughts, it is not the only thing. The message from last night also worried me."

Caleotte nodded. "A betrothal is normally easier to secure, but given the situation I am unsurprised the Baratheons are taking their time agreeing to it."

"Near every nobleman in the Seven Kingdoms is sending a daughter to King's Landing in an attempt to marry the king. Some of them are bound to realize sooner than others that they have no chance and so will turn their sights on Stannis. We need that betrothal officially announced before that happens."

"Aye. What did Oberyn's previous message say? 'At least half a dozen Freys-'"

"Showed up alongside a full score of noblewomen from Riverland Houses," Doran finished. "I think Dorne and the Iron Islands are the only kingdoms not trying to marry the king."

"Really? Even the North?"

"It was one of Oberyn's earliest reports. He mentioned one house was staying behind when the vast majority began the march home. I think it was House Cerwyn."

"It sounds to me," Caleotte began slowly. "That short of going to King's Landing yourself, there is not much you can do to hasten the process."

"You are likely correct," Doran admitted.

"In that case, you would be best served casting it from your mind, in my humble opinion, my prince. Worrying will only put stress on your body, it serves you no benefit. Have faith in your brother and the men and women you sent with him."

~Lyanna Stark~

She was becoming annoyed with Torrhen, mainly because she couldn't fucking find him.

He knows how angry I got at him in Sunspear when he kept avoiding me. So why is he doing it now?

Benjen likely had something to do with it. Her younger brother had come to visit the Dreadfort and she had been glad to see him. After some hugging, crying, and apologies from both of them, she and Benjen had reverted to their old behavior as if the intervening time hadn't happened at all. They brawled in the yard, they practiced their archery together, they even went on a horse ride together. All of it had to be done at night because the sun burned Lyanna regardless of her clothes (it had been amusing forcing Benjen to sit behind her in the saddle, hugging her as if he was the maiden and she the dashing knight). The horse ride had been what truly made Benjen accept that Ned's tales of snarks and grumkins were real. Lyanna had usually been able to beat Benjen when they sparred, so her increased speed and strength hadn't been enough. But the obviously dead horse that obeyed her every command, that had been a clear sign of magic.

It was that magic, the basic spell she had learned from Torrhen, that had convinced Benjen to seek their brother out. It wasn't that Benjen and Torrhen hated each other, they loved and respected the other as good brothers should, but they had never had much in common. Whereas Brandon had acted as an extension of Father's will and therefore a cause of misery for Torrhen, Benjen had been too small at the time to force Torrhen to do anything so the two simply avoided one another due to lack of interest most of the time. As the most well read person in Winterfell (other than possibly Maester Walys) Torrhen had been a great source of stories but other than that and at mealtimes, Lyanna honestly could not recall a single memory where Benjen and Torrhen interacted.

Lyanna could admit that the possibility of real magic would make near any man want to repair a relationship with a sibling. Though now that she actually knew how to make use of magic, she found the reality of it did not live up to mystery. Not only was magic hard, it was shockingly boring. The study of the magical energy and knowing how it impacted the body of the caster as well as the bodies she was trying to raise. She wasn't even that good at it. He hadn't come out and said it, but Lyanna knew that Torrhen had been frustrated at how long it had taken her to reanimate the animal corpses. He hadn't thought teaching her would take so much time that he wanted to spend learning new kinds of magic for himself. And despite how humble he attempted to be when describing his own abilities, Lyanna knew Torrhen was leagues ahead of her in magical aptitude. He had even figured out a way to channel his magic through himself as a substitute for his need for blood. No matter how many times he had described what he had done, Lyanna hadn't been able to replicate his feat.

And if Torrhen was showing Benjen some magic that meant he was either off in some part of the wilderness where they were unlikely to be discovered or down in one of the former flaying rooms. Given that if they were outside the Dreadfort Lyanna couldn't do anything about it, she decided to check the former Bolton torture rooms (not to be confused with the offical torture chambers in the dungeons).

The first room, where Torrhen had taught Lyanna how to reanimate corpses, was empty other than her creations. They stood in place, held together by her paltry magic. It wasn't that she had any use for four rats, three squirrels, four rabbits, and a dog, but Torrhen said the drain they had on her was good practice for when she needed to hold together larger corpses and he had been right. The first time she had raised a horse she had not even been able to keep it animated for a single ride around the exterior of the Dreadfort, the beast had collapsed underneath her and Torrhen had had to reanimate it himself to avoid the servants asking questions about why a dead horse was laying outside the castle walls. But maintaining these animals, the constant tug on her internal magic, was another kind of training, just not one that could be replicated in the yard. She still lost control now and then and had to come back here to channel her magic into the animal corpses, reanimating them into their undead forms rather than a collection of useless bones on the floor.

As Lyanna approached Torrhen's solar, there was a hidden entrance behind a bookcase that led to the flaying room where he did most of his magical experiments, she had to wonder about the main cause for Benjen's visit. He had claimed it was just to see her, to know that she was alive and willingly staying at the Dreadfort, but she knew better. There was something else, something Benjen was trying to work up the nerve to discuss with her. Given how much they had already discussed, everything from his helping her put on the Laughing Tree armor at Harrenhal to how she felt about being a mother to a child she couldn't be around, she didn't know what subject matter there was that would be uncomfortable to talk about.

"Krell, is Torrhen or Benjen in there?"

The former Mountain That Rides swiveled his head to look down at her. He had carried out any orders Torrhen gave him with nary a complaint but the enormous man still unnerved her. People just shouldn't be that big.

"They both are, along with Oswell. They are not to be disturbed."

"Because they are in the other room, presumably?" Lyanna asked. "I'm normally allowed to go in when Torrhen is back there."

When he didn't argue, she stepped past him and slipped through the door and into the solar. Sure enough, the bookshelf was open, revealing the twisting staircase down to the private area. I realize Krell was guarding the door but they really should have closed the bookcase. As much as Torrhen gets on me about staying in the habit of being careful what I call him, he should make a habit of not being sloppy about the possibility of someone seeing his magic.

Descending the stairs, Lyanna could make out two voices. Benjen and Torrhen were in high spirits from the sound of it. She even heard Benjen's high pitched squealing interspersed with snorts, that only happened when he laughed for too long. Opening the door-

What the fuck?

Oswell was standing in the center of the room, bent over with his pants and greaves around his ankles. It was the first time she had seen his skin and it looked as rotted as the horse she had raised. That wasn't the surprising part though. No, what shocked Lyanna was Torrhen was standing next to Oswell while holding a candle up to the wight's ass.

Benjen was off to her left, rolling on the floor and clutching at his sides. He paused between laughter long enough to shout, "Again!"

"Oswell," Torrhen said while raising a fist high above his head. "FIRE!"

And then Oswell farted. And with that gust of wind the flame from the candle burst across the room, striking the far wall.

Turning on her heel, Lyanna made her way back up the staircase. She doubted her brothers had even noticed her.

Men.