A/N: Hey guys! Wow, I'm really glad that people seem to be interested in this story still. I'm very grateful for everyone who favourited/followed/reviewed, it means a lot. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! That's what's most important right now. Moving on from the world, I want to address some questions/points I noticed in various comments. The main one, of course, is if Avariella will be paired off with someone; as indicated in the summary, there is going to be some romance in this story, but it's going to take a really long time to get there and develop. I know it seems really slow-paced (and if it's too short paced let me know because I'm kinda worried about if I'm executing this properly or not) but I really want the development of Avariella to feel natural and genuine – same with Talisa too, who will have a prominent role in "A Northern Frey." Without giving too much away, this story is about Avariella's journey to being able to have that kind of love.
I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Navigating Avariella's state of mind after the revelation regarding Avos' death was a tricky thing, especially in terms of how that affects her treatment/view of the Starks. More than that, I wanted to show just how much Avariella was shaped by her upbringing at the Twins and how much what she experienced there has made her into who she is now. I really want to showcase how that toxic/unhealthy/abusive environment influences her and reactions/expectations. Let me know what you guys think – reviews are really appreciated! Feel free to PM me if you have any questions!
Until next time,
Fionakevin073
Chapter 10
Following Olyvar's revelation, Avariella spent her time walking around in a daze. She awoke feeling numb, ate with little appetite and showed up when it was expected of her. If anyone noticed that she was not herself, they did not say anything, or mention the fact that her and Olyvar had been avoiding each other like the plague – though to be fair, it had only been three days since he told her the truth.
Avariella was at a loss at what to do. She wished to write to Roslin, but the thought of her knowing the true nature of Avos' death made her feel so ill she nearly wretched. And Shirei, by the Gods –
It took all of the strength Avariella possessed for her to swallow down bile and smile. Perhaps smile was not the correct term – merely keep her face impassive as she struggled to hide the turmoil within. Everything felt out of place. She felt jittery and awkward within her own body, the hole in her chest wide and gaping as she struggled to return to a sense of normalcy, to little avail.
Whenever she saw any of the Starks – which was relatively often, she felt the familiar lurch of hatred, of discomfort, but then the thought he died wrestling a man over a whore lingered in her mind, and the righteous anger and pain she felt somehow died and burned brighter at the same time. She wondered if Lady Catelyn knew, if her son for some reason had thought to tell her, to mock the Frey who had called him an oathbreaker. She saw no such haughtiness in her eyes, no sense of triumph, but Avariella was not truly put at ease because Lady Catelyn hardly struck her as the kind of woman who would gloat so openly and forsake all of her status as a great lady.
The fact of the matter was, Avariella no longer had any cards to play – she was stuck between an endless list of emotions that she could never quite choose from.
Her righteous, blinding anger and hatred had been her armor. It had kept her removed from her surroundings, had allowed her to paint everyone at Winterfell with the same brush and be done with it. Now, she felt vulnerable, as though her heart were on display and she did not have the strength to hide and protect it. Now that her hatred no longer felt as justified, as righteous as before, she knew not what to do. Avariella almost felt like she had when she'd first started to snap out of her near cationic state when she discovered Avos was dead. She had spent so long in the shadows of her chambers, crying and staring at the wall blindly with only herself for company that when she'd managed to find the strength to go out, she had felt only weakness; had felt so fragile she was sure if someone poked her she would crumble to pieces. That hadn't lasted long; bitterness and hatred had wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed until there was virtually nothing left; nothing of the innocent, dedicated girl she had been before. Avariella had loved fiercely it was true - but she could hate with equal ferocity, and it had consumed her for over a year, with the last few weeks at the Twins being somewhat of an exception.
At least then she had been at home; she had known the people and knew they would leave her alone. She had had time to do whatever she wished without someone demanding otherwise. That would not be tolerated here at Winterfell, Avariella knew, and she dared not ask for some time alone, lest someone question as to why she wanted such a thing. It was enough knowing that he knew, and she did not want to see the smug look in his eyes. Freys, his blue eyes would read. You are all the same. She was sure of it. Avariella was already frustrated at the fact that he had seen her so vulnerable when she was at the Godswood; that he no doubt knew that she was aware of the true nature of her brother's death, no doubt feeling vindicated and triumphant.
The thought made her heart tense, made her want to scream at the top of her lungs. It was all still too painful, and Olyvar —
No.
She would not think of her half-brother for as long as she could help it, for if she did, she was sure the rage within her would burn so strongly it would set fire to everything in its path. It surprised her somewhat, this rage. She had not felt it when she'd confronted him, had been truthful when she told Olyvar that she did not hate him for what he did – for lying and telling her the truth. She'd meant it in the moment. But when her guard was down – when she was in bed, trying to sleep, when she ate alone during one of the breaks – she could feel something stir within her, something dark and vicious.
Avariella sighed softly as she bent down to reach for another stone, casting the small girl beside her a quick glance to ensure she was alright. She had seen Lilly intermittently over the past three weeks and had grown rather fond of the girl, though they did not often speak for long periods of time. Avariella admired her for being so willing and determined to keep working despite her small stature and hunger. As she stared at the young girl, she noticed the cheapness of her lips, the small scabs on her fingers, the smear of dirt under her eye.
In a strange way, she made Avariella think of Shirei. Shirei was a few years older than Lilly, and yet she could not imagine Shirei doing such things; no, her sister was not suited to this kind of work, no matter how enthusiastic she would have been. She had a fragile disposition; frequently catching colds and sneezing due to her allergies in the spring. Avariella's heart ached to think of her sister then, and her mind momentarily flashed to the last letter she had received from her sister when they had arrived at Winterfell. It took a great deal of time to send ravens from Winterfell to the Riverlands, and yet Avariella yearned to hear from her younger sister, missed her so fiercely it made her bones tremble.
By the Gods, she thought then, as she placed another rock in the wheelbarrow where they were collecting them. How on Earth can I ever look her in the eye again? How can I ever tell her the truth? Should I? And what of Roslin? Should she be told?
They have a right to know, a part of her whispered. And yet, she could not bear to reveal something of such magnitude in a raven; she almost felt like a coward when she thought of it. Part of her felt guilty as well. Had Olyvar not said Avos made him swear not to tell her the truth because he was ashamed?
Mayhaps Olyvar lied.
Avariella let out a small hiss when the rock she was holding fell onto her right foot; luckily, it was a small one, so no damage was done.
"Lady Ava," Lilly cried, her young voice high and shrill with concern. "Are you well?"
Avariella nodded dazedly, a small throb continuing to plague her foot.
"Yes," she replied. "Quite well, thank you."
"Shall I send for the Maester?"
"No, that shall not be necessary Lilly, thank you."
They worked in silence for a little while longer, until eventually it became time to take their lunch break. Max bounded into view after she moved away from the pile, wagging his tail excitedly, no doubt hoping for some scraps or her attention. At least his affection had not changed.
Oh my dear boy, she thought, bending down to pet him. You will never fail me.
Her heart squeezed with love for him, and it took her a moment to realize that Lilly was standing close to them, watching her pet Max with something akin to envy and grief. It made a shiver run up Avariella's spine.
"Come Lilly," she called out softly, causing the little girl to jump out of her reverie. "He won't bite."
She watched as Lilly approached and began to pet Max, delight warming her small, pinched features. As Avariella stared, she could not help but think that this little girl did not seem so different to any of the others she had met down south; she laughed like Shirei, smiled like her too, without reserve; she could sense no difference between the Northern and Southern children that everyone across Westeros liked to ramble on about. Northerners, people always said, Northerners included, are different. Serious folk focused on survival and not pretty games. Grim people, smile rarely, laugh even less so. No doubt they're all born that way, with winter in their blood.
She recalled Avos' stories for a moment; of White Walkers and creatures of the night, of how Northerners were men who awoke only under the light of the moon and the shower of fresh snows. She wondered when this innocent child would have this coldness, this grimness seep in her, strip her of all her light as she battled to survive the harsh winters, no longer caring for small pleasures and joys.
Avariella surprised herself by how upset she was at the thought.
By the Gods, am I to be a woman of winter too?
She thought of the South then, of the light blue skies and warm summer sun's, and missed it right down to her very bones. She glanced around her surroundings quickly, her gaze lingered on the perpetually grey sky; there is no beauty here, she thought to herself. No warmth, no honor. Only misery.
She no longer amused herself as she did when she first arrived at Winterfell, trying to find some beauty in her barren surroundings; no, that had all left with Olyvar's revelation.
"Lady Frey?" Lilly's tentative tone was like a bucket of ice water.
"Yes?"
"Will your brother come for the lunch time meal?"
A shot of pain sprung in her chest at the mention of Olyvar.
"No," she heard herself reply. "I think not."
A moment.
"Would you like to eat with me and my mother?" Lilly's voice sounded shy, and when Avariella glanced down at the girl she knew that the flush on her face was not just for the cold.
A part of her was tempted to say no, the word even formed on her tongue, but something stopped her. Now that she was eating alone, her mind always slipped to Olyvar's revelation, to Avos, like she was entering some deep catonic state. It was becoming harder and harder for her to snap out of them, to maintain her composure when all she wanted to do was scream and demand answers; from who, she was not quite sure. She wanted something, anything, that would help explain to her how this happened – why this happened.
"Alright," she agreed, before she could quite stop herself.
Her apprehension was abated by how Lilly beamed up at her, and a sliver of warmth unfurled in her chest as she followed Lilly closely as she began to make her way towards her mother, who was no doubt working somewhere in the castle as well. It occurred to Avariella then that she knew absolutely nothing about Lilly's mother, or anything truly substantial about Lilly herself, besides the fact that her father remained injured in the First Keep.
Stupidly enough, she almost felt herself growing nervous and could feel herself scowl.
You are a Lady, a part of her mind whispered. That does demand a certain respect, a confidence, a lack of need for approval by those who do not share your status.
She bristled at the thought, the lessons of her Septa whirling around in her mind.
What a stuck up cunt she was, Avariella thought to herself, though even she was forced to acknowledge that there was some truth to her words, no matter how arrogant they sounded – not matter how arrogant they were. She was snapped out of her reverie when she caught sight of Lilly running into someone's embrace, so hard she nearly made the woman topple over from where she had crouched down.
"Flower," she heard Lilly's mother whisper affectionately.
Avariella noticed that they both shared the same dull yellow hair, the thin, pointed noise that looked rather dainty. Something tightened in her chest as she stared at the mother-daughter embrace. She did not believe she'd ever seen such a thing at the Twins – of course she had seen the commonfolk with their children, but rarely had she seen true moments of motherly or fatherly concern, of warm embraces and affectionate nicknames. There had been none of that in the Twins. She had not really known any of her stepmothers – hells, the current one was her age!
Her father's face floated in her mind's eye, and as she blinked it away rapidly, she began to notice their surroundings. They were near the lower courtyards, she believed, right where the blacksmiths forgery was being rebuilt, a small rudimentary one being currently used for small fix ups and creations. The First Keep loomed behind them ominously, but Avariella was more preoccupied by the small circle of women that sat behind Lilly's mother, watching the display with mostly loving expressions, with the exception of one. The one who watched it emotionlessly was an old woman, with milky white eyes that had faint traces of grey in the middle. Strangely enough, Avariella did not find her expression to be unkind or cruel, rather serious instead, as though there were something far more imminent and pressing approaching.
"Mama," Lilly said. "This is Lady Frey, she agreed to come eat with us!"
Avariella saw that it took a moment for the woman to understand her daughter's words, and almost instantly her gaze lifted to see Avariella hovering behind her daughter a few steps away. She rose up to her full height, revealing that she was slightly taller than Avariella herself. Her clothes looked well-worn and slightly tattered, and Avariella noticed that she wore no additional cloak or fur on top of her thick wool dress.
"My name is Lyra, milady, I am Lilly's mother," the woman said, holding tightly onto her daughter's shoulders.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Avariella returned. "I am Lady Avariella Frey of the Twins."
She turned her gaze to the other women sitting on the small stones they had gathered around in a circle, their soup bowls balanced in their laps. They didn't all share the same look as the workers Avariella saw on a daily basis – covered in ash and dust, from their head to their feet. They did not share the same look, but Avariella could see how swollen Lyra's hands were as they lay on Lilly's shoulders, saw how withered some of the other women's hands were, like they'd been kept in water for ages. No doubt they were part of the household – perhaps some in the kitchens – meager though they were now – others were servants who no doubt had to clean the restored rooms, wash the clothing that was given to them.
"It is nice to meet you all as well," she said, to the other four ladies.
They made a slow attempt to rise as if to curtsy.
"No," Avariella said. "Please don't bother yourselves. Continue to enjoy your meal."
The elderly woman looked at her, and Avariella felt a shiver run up her spine at how milky white her eyes were, tinted with faint circles of grey.
"Welcome, Lady Frey," she croaked.
The other women seemed to relax at her words, as though they were waiting for her welcome.
"Come sit my lady," Lyra said, eyeing her nervously, no doubt curious as to this southern Lady, no doubt having seen so few of them before.
Avariella offered her a curt smile and followed Lyra with Max at her heels. Lyra smiled at her sheepishly as she pointed at a smooth stone near the outer edge of the circle for her to sit.
"Perhaps I can go find a blanket or a chair for you, my lady," Lyra began.
"Thank you," Avariella heard herself say. "But that won't be necessary."
She moved to sit on the stone before Lyra could protest.
Lilly returned with two bowls of soup shortly after and Avariella ate with the group of women in near silence, if it had not been for Lilly's rambling. No doubt they were all confused as to what she was doing there, sitting and eating amongst them, and Avariella found herself feeling rather withdrawn as well.
She was distracted from her thoughts by Max nudging her thigh, having curled up beside her as she ate. She smiled at him, and using her spoon, fished out a small piece of meat for him to eat.
"How long have you had him, my lady?" the girl who sat closest beside her asked. Avariella looked at her, noticed that she could not have been that older than she, and that her accent, while undoubtedly Northern, had a different twinge to it than she had otherwise heard at Winterfell.
"Since I was thirteen," she replied.
There was an awkward pause before the girl continued.
"I am Jeyna, my lady."
Another woman jumped in, noticeably older than her or Rosa.
"I am Wylla."
"Callin."
The old woman's eyes were sharp when they glanced at her, and she remained silent.
Lyra looked meaningfully at the old woman and then stared at Avariella, a smile playing on her thin lips.
"This is Rosa," she said gently.
Wylla leaned over a little and whispered: "She's known as Old Rosa to us, having lived in Wintertown longer than anyone alive."
Lyra rolled her eyes at Wylla's words.
"She's rather like Old Nan," Callin said quietly.
Something dark passed over all of their faces, besides Jeyna.
"Who is Old Nan?" Avariella questioned.
There was a moment of silence before Old Rosa talked.
"She worked here as a servant at Winterfell," she said, her voice gruff. "Was known as Old Nan to everyone, far older than I am m'self."
Avariella nodded and did not press further. She looked around at the faces around her, saw how their eyes seemed to have glazed over, lost to memories and deaths that Avariella would never know.
"What's his name, if you don't mind me asking, my lady?" Jeyna asked, as eager to break the tension as she.
"Max," she replied.
"He's very pretty."
Avariella let out an amused huff at that.
"Don't let him hear that," she replied. "He's spoiled enough as it is."
As if on cue, Max began to shake his tail excitedly, causing Lilly to giggle.
"Nice to see some more suitable pets around here," Old Rosa huffed, in between bites.
Avariella saw Lyra cast her a warning glance.
"Rosa –"
"Direwolves are no pets," she said, as though this were something she had argued countless times before. "They are wild, dangerous beasts that belong beyond the wall. It was unnatural for Lord Stark to find them South of the wall, their mother killed by a stag at that."
A stag, Avariella remembered, was the symbol of House Baratheon. The irony, she thought to herself wryly. Not that it mattered much anyhow; the only trueborn Baratheon still living was Shirei Baratheon, daughter of the late Stannis Baratheon, whose cause and life had been obliterated by Robb Stark at the Battle of the Last Stag, a few months after he had brought Daenerys Targaryen back to their shores. It struck Avariella yet again, how the world around her had changed so quickly, how the War of the Five Kings had led to Westeros being altered irrevocably, even if she had not really been affected by it. It had not mattered who sat on the iron throne – her life at the Twins was the same.
"Didn't all the Stark Children have them?" Lilly asked. "What happened to Lady Sansa's?"
Avariella was curious to find out too, in spite of herself.
"Rumour has it Queen Cersei had it killed," Wylla supplied, seeming like the kind of woman who had all the gossip.
Lilly gasped in horror; no doubt she had heard all about the evil Queen Cersei, an incestuous, murderous woman who raised the monstrous Joffrey Baratheon.
"The direwolves have protected all the Stark children," Lyra said, rather crossly. "There was even one for Ned Stark's baseborn son."
That caught Avariella's attention. She had heard of Ned Stark's bastard before, the living proof that the most honorable man in Westeros was not so honorable after all. Jon Snow, she believed his name was. If Jon Snow was evidence of Ned Stark's dishonor, the Queen was the same for his son.
The thought made some petty part of her want to smile, but she refrained. She glanced at the women as they talked amongst themselves, took notice of their behavior. Callin's left eye seemed to be slightly more closed than her right one, as though it were permanently squinting. Wylla, despite being quite pretty, had a hint of a scar down the side of her neck.
Avariella turned to Jeyna, who was watching Lyra and Rosa's exchange with a small smile on her lips.
"Forgive me," Avariella began, eager to keep her mind off Olyvar and Avos. "But I noticed that your accent is somewhat different that the others. From where do you claim?"
The other girls seemed to stiffen slightly at her question, but Jeyna showed no such hesitance.
"The Dreadford," she replied, readily enough. Avariella recognized that to be the seat of House Bolton. "My mother and I escaped to Winterfell after the iron borne had been run out of the castle by Lord Bolton's baseborn son, Ramsay."
Avariella remembered her meeting with Lord Roose Bolton; recalled the iciness in his eyes, how it had made gooseflesh appear on her skin. It took everything in her not to ask if Lord Bolton had a trueborn son as well. No doubt if she asked, the gossip would be all over the castle, and Gods knew she did not want such attention.
"Yes," Old Rosa added. "Winterfell was one of the first places rid of the iron borne, after they burnt it to the ground."
Avariella looked at all of their expressions then, and now even Jeyna's seemed haunted.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out, watched as they all glanced at her. "For what happened."
"War is war," Old Rosa replied, finishing the last of her soup with a loud slurp. "Everyone suffers, and those who caused it have been punished."
Avariella was blinded by the image of Avos, of Olyvar, and the sharp feeling of betrayal and hurt that she had managed to bury was suddenly ripped right up to the surface. She struggled to maintain her composure as she stared at the older woman. These people have seen things I could never dream of, she thought to herself. She tried to picture the Twins burning to the ground, overrun with reavers and rapers, and felt herself flinch. Those who have caused my suffering have not all been punished, she could not help but think simultaneously.
"Northerners take care of their own," Old Rosa continued, lifting her gaze to Jeyna.
The younger woman nodded in agreement, but otherwise remained quiet.
It stayed as such when Avariella took her leave.
Avariella stayed away from Lilly the next day. All she could think of was Old Rosa's words: War is war. Everyone suffers. It was true, that was for certain, but Avariella now found herself juggling an additional set of emotions besides her grief, humiliation and confusion: guilt, and a small hint of embarrassment. During the war, Avariella had been worried for her brothers, that was for certain. Worried if they were captured or killed. She was concerned for the outcome of the war, but she had felt safe behind the walls of the Twins. Her life was not in danger there, besides the lecherous characters her father allowed to roam about the courtyards.
She spent that night thinking about the scar on Wylla's neck, the impairment of Callin's eye, the fact that Lilly's father was still withering away in the med bay, the way their faces tightened when she mentioned the iron borne. They had wounds, just like she, that had yet to heal from the war. It was a stern reminder that despite her loss, despite everything Avariella herself had suffered, it was not as great as what these Northerners had undergone when their King was away.
She spent the day mostly in silence, accompanying Lady Catelyn a few steps behind, watching passively as she spoke with masons and builders.
Northerners take care of their own. Jeyna seemed to have found a people to help her through her pain; Avariella noticed that she had made no mention of her mother; mayhaps she had died when they came to Winterfell. She did not know, did not want to risk opening fresh wounds.
Those who have caused it have been punished.
Old Rosa's voice seemed to haunt her every waking thought. My dead have not been honored, she thought to herself. I do not know who to blame anymore.
And that was now the true source of her pain, was it not?
With all of this time on her hands, Avariella could not help but be consumed by her misery, by her confusion. She would turn her thoughts over and over in her mind, trying to find some solution, some easy way out that would ease the turmoil inside her. She missed her righteousness, the sure knowledge that they were in the wrong, were the dishonorable ones, and she was defending her brother's memory, protesting against their mistreatment simply because they were Freys.
You can't condemn people simply for the actions of their father, she would think, but then the words he died wrestling a man over a whore flashed in her mind and Avariella would be back to square one. That wasn't my brother, she wanted to scream. It's not. It's not. He was good, he was kind! It tore her apart to think of anyone thinking of Avos as merely another lecher, as another Frey spawn who fell prey to his father's habits. She developed a headache as she struggled to focus on something, anything else, but could not; she dared not engage with Lady Catelyn, did not find it within herself to go and find Lilly.
The hours of the day crept by slowly, and by the time she was meant to go and wait on the Queen, Avariella wanted to crawl into her cot and escape into a deep slumber. She made her way to the med bay with unusual quickness, eager to get this part of her day over and done with.
Avariella opened the door to the First Keep, her muscles straining as she struggled to squeeze through, only to find herself face to face with Olyvar.
She slipped through, carelessly let the door slam shut behind her, so forcefully she could feel a flush of wind wisp through her hair. She stiffened at the sight of him, shuffling her feet so there was a little more distance between them. She could not bear to look at him – she would not bear it.
"Ava—" he muttered awkwardly. "I—"
"Leave," she said quietly, her back to him.
She did not wish for anyone to notice this interaction, hoped fervently that when she lifted her gaze from the ground, she would not find anyone staring at them wide eyed, eager to gossip the instant her back was turned. She felt the weight of his gaze at her back, and the breath that was trapped in her lungs left instantly when she heard the door close behind him on his way out.
It took her a few moments to lift her eyes and she exhaled with relief when she saw no evidence of someone witnessing their exchange. Avariella lifted her gaze up the stairs, and her relief evaporated when she saw the Queen at the top of them, having no doubt witnessed her and Olyvar –
Damn him, her mind hissed, as her body bristled under the Queen's inquisitive gaze. How could he have told the King? How?
Avariella did not know how she managed to move forward, but she did, and she was proud of how even her tone was as she curtsied when she reached the Queen.
"Your grace."
She looked at the Queen stubbornly, refusing to let her know how affected she was, how much she was hurting. She was not sure which emotions were there in the Queen's dark orbs, but she did not care to find out. I will not be mocked, she thought to herself furiously. I will not be taunted or threatened. Gods knew she'd had enough of that at the Twins to last her a lifetime.
Avariella moved up the stairs before the Queen could move, uncaring if it was seen as a slight or a major breech in decorum. As usual, the stench of blood, sweat and piss filled the air as she took in the men still cluttered about the room, piled so closely together some seemed only a hair's length apart. She saw some of the other nurses move around the room, each holding a cloth or some other object in their hands, blood staining their clothes and wrists. She even saw Maester Bryal near the end of the room, his back leaning against a door that would no doubt lead to a closet full of supplies.
Avariella did not ever anticipate feeling a modicum of comfortableness whenever she was in this room. The small groans and moans from the soldiers made her feel ill, and she tried to cast her eyes at anywhere other than their wounds – once, she had seen a man with his foot freshly sown off, and it had taken everything within her not to collapse then and there. She was sure did not have the stomach to have such a profession – she could stitch well enough it was true, had had to do so for Olyvar and Avos a fair amount of times during their childhood when the Maester was busy or they did not wish to seek help so they didn't get into trouble, but she could do nothing else. Whoever does such a thing is far braver than I shall ever be, she thought, and she jumped when she caught sight of the Queen sliding past her, making her way to one of the nurses who was now conversing with Maester Bryal, who had since moved closer to where Avariella was standing.
She could hear mere snapshots of their conversation:
"The bandages are growing low, Maester—"
"Yes, I shall speak to Lady Catelyn for a solution—"
For a moment, it struck Avariella as odd that they weren't asking the Queen for a solution, that she had not even bothered to volunteer herself to ask Lady Catelyn for more supplies. Is that not your job? She wondered curiously.
Avariella felt unnaturally queasy; her encounter with Olyvar had weakened her disposition, which had already been crippled by all the strength she had spent trying to hide her emotions in front of the Queen, and she was disturbed by how incapable she was of not feeling lightheaded.
Breathe, she thought, closing her eyes. Breathe.
"My lady, are you alright?"
Avariella's eyes flew open as felt herself stiffen at the Queen's words.
"Quite fine, your grace," she replied stiffly, keeping her gaze lowered to the ground. From the corner of her eye, she could see the Queen's hands flex nervously, prompting her to lift her gaze.
Talisa Stark looked surprisingly nervous and somewhat fragile, as though she were expecting Avariella to leap up and bite her arm off for merely asking her a question. Which, she supposed, was a concern that had some reasonable merit to it. In the little time they spent together, it was spent mostly in uncomfortable silence. Some nights, Avariella brushed the Queen's hair with steady strokes, careful not to be too rough, but not overly concerned with gentleness either. They exchanged the bare minimum amount of conversation.
Avariella only distantly recalled now the statement the Queen had once said to her: "you have a beautiful bridge."
As a matter of fact, now that Avariella thought of it, the only people who she had seen the Queen converse with properly were the King and Lady Catelyn; sure, she spoke with the Maester and other nurses, but from what Avariella noticed it was only over supplies and methods of treatment; other than that, the Queen was left alone, and with her husband busy –
She must be rather lonely, Avariella thought, the notion appeared in her mind so unexpectedly she felt herself blink in surprise. Something soft rose in her throat, something that made the stiffness in her bones lessen somewhat, for just a moment. It faded as quickly as it came, but Avariella did not manage to regain the full strength of her fury, of her distaste for the woman that afternoon.
Avariella woke the next morn covered in sweat, her chest heaving. Her dreams had been horrid and cruel, full of sneers and death and blood. Ser Trent's face had morphed into her father's, then Black Walder's, then her brother's, and she heard the distant howling of a wolf in the background.
Needless to say, she was sure she looked as bad she felt.
Avariella did not have it within herself to avoid Lilly this day, and so when the young girl offered to eat with her again, Avariella followed her silently. Her senses felt muted, her mind preoccupied, and when she sat down amongst the circle of women once more, she did not care to try and fill in the silence.
Max seemed to sense her discontent, and was uncharacteristically subdued as she fed him one of the slivers of meat that she found in her soup.
"Mama," Lilly said, after gulping down another spoonful of the watery substance. "Why is there less and less meat appearing in the soup?"
Avariella had noticed it too, the dwindling amount of meat that was included in the large pots the cooks used to create the stew. She'd heard whispers of dwindling supplies – were struggling to keep their people fed. It was hard for her to find pleasure in the failure when she noticed just how thin Lilly was, how gaunt her mother was too for that matter.
By the Gods, Avariella thought. People will die before the Winter even comes.
"Winter is coming soon, flower," Lyra told her daughter gently, patting her on the head. "It is important to preserve supplies for then."
She saw Callin shoot her a glance out of the corner of her eye, and it occurred to Avariella that they might have expected her to have answers. Her to be able to help them. She felt defensive all of a sudden, her sluggishness suddenly evaporating. I'm not apart of anything, she wanted to say suddenly. I haven't done anything.
For some reason, that did not abate her guilt.
Lilly seemed to except the explanation with surprising maturity for a child of her age. Avariella recalled Shirei's own tantrums, rare as they were; remembered those she had had, Roslin too, even A—
She shied away from finishing that thought, but the sentiment remained. They all had been able to demand for more food, to have had that luxury of not being too concerned for Winter, not even being aware of the death the vicious colds might bring.
Northerners take care of their own, she remembered, and suddenly she had a better understanding as to why.
After Lilly had quietened, she listened as the rest of the girls began to talk amongst themselves. She soon found out that Wylla worked with Callin as a seamstress, mending cloaks, sowing tunics, making gloves with the spare materials the Starks had brought with them down South. Lyra did various jobs around the ruins of Winterfell; some days she helped the cooks, separating the ingredients they could use for the day; others she spent helping the farmers, even some days she joined Wylla and Callin. Jeyna worked as a servant, helping to clean the rooms that had remained after Winterfell's reconstruction, salvage any furniture that had remained and helped sort the new arrivals from all over the North. Avariella was not quite sure what Old Rosa did, and she did think it smart to ask.
"We will endure," is all the old woman barked, after the girls around her had talked of the tasks they had completed that day, of the tasks they still had yet to do. "We always do."
"Yes," Wylla agreed, readily enough. "But I can't wait for the construction to be finished –"
She broke off with a frustrated huff, and Avariella felt mildly uncomfortable when her gaze flickered over to her. It was keen reminder that this was a mild breech in decorum, for her to sup with serving girls like this, but Avariella did not find the breach too strong at the moment. They all worked together, the lot of them. No one was eating better than the rest, or sleeping under magnificently better quarters. They were all tired and hungry. But she supposed there was still reason for them not to want to speak too freely in front of her, the same reason she did not want to speak too freely in front of them.
"How are you finding the North, my lady?" Jeyna asked, breaking the silence.
Avariella almost wanted to laugh at the question.
"It's different," she managed to reply, rather stiffly. "But I suppose I shall grow used to it."
When Avariella went to her cot that night, thankfully not having to wait on the Queen since she had refused to leave at the regular hour because she claimed a patient needed her, she thought rather heavily of the day's earlier episode. The cool sense of guilt that had formed in her stomach had yet to leave her, and she struggled to rid herself of it.
In truth, Avariella did not mind too much thinking of it, as it allowed her an escape from thinking of Avos, but she still did not like the sense of shame that clang to her. She used to be involved in the running of the Twins, was she not?
Avariella remembered those times with a hint of bitterness. Her father had been too busy whoring to properly deal with the supplies. She remembered how hungry her, Roslin and Shirei had been for weeks after their brothers had left for war. How Avariella lay in bed late at night, listening to Shirei's stomach grumble loudly. The Starks had demanded grain to help feed their army – and the Freys one too – but her father had not bothered to ensure that the rest of the household would be kept fed.
No doubt he was only concerned with his own stomach, she thought. She was too used to her father's antics to feel any hurt by it. But then she had managed to take action. She had talked to the Maester, to the cooks, even though she had been embarrassed, even though she had been wary. She had done it because her family needed her too: because she could.
I can't do anything now. It's not my place. I have no power here. She thought of Lilly's quiet resignation at the thought of starvation, at the way she noticed that Lyra had slipped her daughter some of her potatoes and meat when she thought no one was looking.
We endure, Old Rosa had said.
And they will, Avariella thought to herself harshly. Look at you, helping out the Starks! By the Gods, who do you think you are?
But the guilt that lingered in her stomach did not leave.
It's not for the Starks, a part of her whispered. It's for Lilly.
That, for whatever reason, seemed different.
After Avariella had left the Queen in the First Keep, she found that little of her emotional turmoil had faded over the night. It increased tenfold when she caught sight of Lady Catelyn. Her heart began to beat furiously at the sight of the elder woman and she cursed herself for it.
Dear Gods, get yourself together.
But Avariella's hatred for the Starks was momentarily outweighed by the guilt that continued to plague her stomach, itching its way up to wrap itself around her heart.
Come now, Ava, when were you too proud to do what's right?
She shivered at the thought of Avos' voice.
You're dead, she snapped in her mind. You left me here. You don't know who I've turned into without you.
Coward, he whispered right back.
Avariella observed as Maester Bryal and Lady Catelyn conversed amongst themselves, no doubt assuming that she did not care enough to pay attention. Which, previously, was the case.
"We're low on food, bandages," the Maester was saying. "I was looking over the ledgers, and my lady, we have done well by preserving most of our grain till the construction has ended, but I fear we will struggle to provide for the workers – we need to ensure that they still obtain the proper nutrients as to continue to be in good health."
Lady Catelyn hummed in agreement, though she remained quiet. Avariella saw her frown.
Coward coward coward coward -
"My lady, if I may," Avariella blurted out, and flushed slightly under Catelyn Stark's cool gaze.
"Yes, Lady Frey?"
Avariella gulped discretely, tried not to show how uncomfortable she felt. When she was at the Twins, especially during the time her family was in the war, she had taken charge with no issue. The Maester guided her, the stewards even listened to her. Avariella had struggled to feed her family - to learn how to manage ledgers and balance rations. She had been involved even from slightly before the war, but that had been little. She and Roslin had turned into the ladies of the Twins, seeing as her father's current wife seemed to be completely disinterested in fulfilling such a task, as she was not older than her or Roslin.
"May I suggest boiling the bones of the carcasses?" She posited. "It will not be as filling as meat, I know, but since we are running low on resources, and until the farmers return to their fields after the rebuilding of Winterfell and Wintertown, it will suffice. The men and women will still receive the nutrients, and some of the taste."
Lady Catelyn regarded her for a moment, before she shifted her gaze towards the Maester.
"What say you?" the elder woman questioned.
The Maester was already nodding.
"Yes, Lady Frey is quite right. The solution is not perfect, but the inclusion of the bones will provide some nutritional value - and taste."
"Very well then," Catelyn Stark agreed. "Do you have any notions as to what to do with our lack of cloth for the wounded, Lady Frey?"
Avariella could not tell if the Lady was reprimanding, found that she cared little if she was.
"Yes," she replied. "Use the banners."
Avariella was unsure if she was correct, but she could have sworn that a small ghost of a smile graced the elder woman's lips.
"I was thinking the same," she admitted.
Avariella felt some of the queasiness in her gut begin to quench.
Lady Catelyn shot her a few curious looks throughout the rest of the day, when she assumed Avariella wasn't looking. In fact, Avariella was not quite sure she could even call them curious. As always, the elder woman's expression was stern, if slightly more relaxed than usual. Avariella felt some distinct horror at the thought that the woman might think her wanting to gain her approval. The thought still made her clench with distaste, made her jut her chin out proudly. She did not need any of the Stark's approval, damn them. But after the initial surge of proudness and indignation had faded, Avariella realized that the woman was not probably not concerned with getting Avariella to like her. In fact, Lady Catelyn did not seem like she even wanted such a thing; true, she was always perfectly polite to Avariella, but she never enquired anything personal about her since their arrival at Winterfell, and Avariella was glad that she was no longer used as a buffer between Lady Catelyn and the Queen as she had been in the carriage on the way to Winterfell. No, Lady Catelyn probably meant to give her some more of the workload or try and engage with her more on certain matters. Lady Catelyn was a formidable woman, aye, but even she needed to lessen the weight on her shoulders.
Was that not what you wanted? A part of her wondered furiously. To do your part? To help Lilly and the others?
As the day approached its close as the light in the sky began to dim, Avariella found herself growing more and more uncomfortable with the prospect at being in charge of anything to do with Winterfell's reconstruction. This was not her home; the North was still unfamiliar to her, as was its cold and barren lands. Sure, she aided with the carrying of the rocks and the division of the labor, but that was it. By the time Lady Catelyn had dismissed the masons for the day, Avariella was itching to get away, to crawl into her tent and return to the way things had been before; now that she had actually contributed to the discussions and not merely been quiet and meek as a mouse, despite the fact that they had been in Winterfell for close to a moon, she sensed she had unleashed something, however small.
Avariella watched Lady Catelyn for a moment, and wondered if she could perhaps sneak away –
"Lady Frey," Catelyn Stark began, almost as if reading her mind. Since her back was to Avariella, she flinched visibly, mouthing a silent curse. "Would you care to walk with me?"
Avariella gulped and tried to hide her discomfort when the Lady turned around.
"Of course," she agreed, moving to stand next to the woman. It occurred to Avariella as she regarded the eldest Stark that they looked somewhat similar; they both had high cheekbones that were characteristic of women in certain parts of the Riverlands; they both had red hair, though Avariella's was significantly brighter than Catelyn Stark's, whose hair had faded into more of a deep red that it could in the dark almost be mistaken for brown. They both wore the same amount of furs around their necks, and it struck Avariella then that Lady Catelyn, despite being Lady of Winterfell for almost twenty years, had not quite got used to the Northern climate. During her time at Winterfell, Avariella had seen some of the Northern Lords gallivanting around in mere doublets and a tunic while she was buried beneath a thick layer of fur.
She shook herself out of her thoughts as Lady Catelyn began to move forward, forcing her to quickly follow. Almost immediately, she could sense Lady Brienne hovering a few paces behind them. By Gods, she must be bored out of her mind, watching and guarding the Lady of Winterfell as she stayed almost in the same spot all day watching the construction of her home.
"We've made good progress since our arrival at Winterfell," Lady Catelyn commented lightly, casting her gaze around the ruins of the castle.
"Indeed, we have."
As they strolled amongst the grounds, Avariellla almost surprised herself by realizing just how much progress had actually been made. When they'd first arrived, only the walls, the Broken Tower and the First Keep had been left mostly unscathed by the Greyjoys during their brief stint ruling Winterfell. The rest had been mostly a pile of rubble, with few rooms surviving and a little of the original structure and format of the castle. But now, they were expanding some of the castle to include more rooms than they had originally, to make room for the new inhabitants of Winterfell that would be lodged there now that there was a King residing in the North and not a Lord. Avariella wondered then how different life would seem for Lady Catelyn, who had known such a different existence at Winterfell than she ever would.
No doubt it was more peaceful, she thought to herself. Everything is more peaceful when no one has a crown on their head.
"And yet, there is still so much for us to do," Lady Catelyn said finally, as though the words were weighing heavily down on her.
Avariella was tempted to repeat her previous statement but refrained; no doubt doing so would earn her Lady Catelyn's ire or disapproval, something she could do without.
"Rebuilding Winterfell and taking care of a castle and all its inhabitants involves a great deal of matters," she began, as if Avariella were a child. "You need to know how to ration food, obtain grain and seeds to grow, maintain the storage, listen to complaints and make sure your workers are still safe and kept healthy." A moment passed. "I believe that you have a keen mind for such things."
Avariella resisted the urge to gape at her.
I made two suggestions, she wanted to protest. That does not mean I want to be your protégé.
"Thank you, my lady," she murmured, trying to slow the beat of her heart.
The elder woman then cast her stern gaze intently on Avariella, and she resisted the urge to flush at its intensity.
"Your child might be a Queen," she said, out of the blue, nearly making Avariella choke on her spit. No one from the Stark family had mentioned her upcoming engagement, let alone who she would be marrying, and the reminder was startling. It scared her somewhat, how easily she had managed to let the fact slip, how engrossed she had become in the life she was leading at Winterfell and the grief it had brought her.
Avariella had never truly considered that possibility. When she and her sisters had been informed of their father's agreement with Robb Stark, Avariella had considered the idea of becoming the Lady of Winterfell and then eventually Queen in the North. She had dreamt of escaping the Twins for as long as she could remember. It had felt almost like the stories and songs. But then the harsh reality of war had set in, and she became too tired to consider a possibility when the ledgers needed to be organized and the food to be rationed so they would no longer starve.
Now, as she stared at Lady Catelyn, she was reminded of her old hopes, of the role that could have been hers now passing on to her daughter. She could not imagine it, a child of hers ever becoming Queen of anything. She tried to will the notion into being but could not.
"Yes," she acknowledged anyway. "My first-born child will wed the Queen's first born, providing that they share separate genders."
"Indeed, they shall, and your daughter will have a lot to learn about running a large keep and have everything run smoothly. Winterfell may very well be a foreign place for your daughter, I say it would be best for her mother to learn how to manage such a keep before you become a wife. There is still much for you to learn, knowledge that would be invaluable to your daughters and sons."
Avariella paused in her steps, forcing the woman to stop as well.
"There is value in what you say," she said, and even though she did not add it, they both heard the but in her voice. It was difficult for Avariella to imagine, a child of hers considering Winterfell to be their home, a possible daughter becoming Queen of the country that Avariella had been forced to live in. Her daughter being a part of the Starks. Having Stark babies and a Stark husband, if the Gods were willing. The gravity of her situation began to weigh heavily down on her, and she realized with a soft jolt that no matter what she did, how she felt or who she married, she would never be rid of this family, this family that had contributed so greatly to the pain and horror of those she loved and disrespected them in the bargain. A family filled with men that had humiliated her, that would no doubt dangle her grief and pain in front of her like she was a toy. The realization terrified her anew, and her fright must have shown in her face for Lady Catelyn's gaze now became kind. Not as kind as it did when she looked at her children, perhaps, but kind, nonetheless.
"You do not have to love my family," the widow of Ned Stark began. Avariella resisted the urge to shudder at the thought. "But the North is to be your home, Lady Avariella, for the rest of your days. If the Gods are good, one of your children will make Winterfell their home, as you will make it yours for the foreseeable future. Shall you not learn whilst you live here? For your sake, and that of your family's?"
A family that doesn't exist yet, Avariella wanted to snap. How can I do something for someone that not only does not exist, but that I cannot even imagine? I do not even know who my husband is to be. I cannot imagine my child ever being a part of a family that has caused me to lose my sense of reason, my sense of self.
But Avariella didn't say that.
She directed her gaze towards the ruins of Winterfell. She was distantly aware that Lady Catelyn was expecting an answer, but instinctually, she knew that the Lady would give her the time she needed to reply. There was wisdom in the woman's words, she knew that. Her time at the Twins had granted her some experience aye, but that had been well over a year ago now; time would soon enough erase her memory. Her pride was too strong for her to be comfortable with anyone to think of her as incompetent but –
Avos.
Everything, it seemed, came back to her brother. Avariella felt anger rise within her, and much to her surprise, it was not directed at the Starks or herself, but at her brother. Damn you, she thought viciously. Damn you for going, damn Olyvar for leaving you alone, damn you for dying and leaving the rest of us to deal with the hole you left behind. Damn you and Olyvar both for lying to me.
"Alright," Avariella said abruptly, turning to stare at Lady Catelyn. "I shall be willing to learn what you have to teach. Thank you for the offer, my lady."
Avariella would question whether or not it truly occurred later on, but she could have sworn she saw the elder woman smile.
When she lay in bed that night, Max curled against the side of her body, Avariella thought hard as to the day's events.
Coward, Avos had whispered.
She closed her eyes tightly as she tried to shove away the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Gods forgive me, she thought, but I'm so lonely.
And with that, she fell asleep.
A/N: I don't know when the next update's gonna be! I'm going to try and aim for 2 weeks a chapter, but don't hold me to it.
Thanks guys!
Until next time,
Fionakevin073