Chapter Two: Shivers

For the past two months, there was only one thing everyone seemed to talk about – Robb Stark had been crowned as King of the North and the Trident. Overnight he had become a mythic hero, a mighty warrior, a vengeful wolf who fed on the flesh of lions. Bards were already crafting songs and ballads of his victories and the outlaws that called themselves the Brotherhood Without Banners ran amuck the Riverlands, spreading the Young Wolf's message far and wide. It was like one moment no one even knew the Stark boy's name and the next the whole world seemed to revolve around him. As happy as our lord father was with our current position, he was pissed too that a mere boy had achieved something that he could never dream to.

"What news do you have for me today, boy? Have they included the Stark whelp to one of the seven gods now? Are we to start worshipping at his altar?" He scoffed as he kept pawing at Joyeuse's non-existent breast.

"N-no, my lord. It is an urgent missive from Riverrun. They have asked for more aid. Food, medicine and such."

"Don't bother me with any of that. Talk to the bloody maester."

"But, my lord…"

"Ayana?"

"Hmm?" I replied distractedly to Walda, as I dragged my attention away from the high table.

"Are you going to visit Maester Brenett then? After breakfast?"

"I suppose so. I have bookkeeping lessons, and he doesn't have as many willing heads to do his accounting for him anymore."

"What about kitchen duty? Joyce is expecting both of us."

"Take over for me, will ya? And take Shirei to the septa for her lessons." I was already out of my chair as I bid my sisters goodbye and chased after the messenger, who was on his way to the maester.

As I climbed up the stairs to Maester Brenett's work chamber, I wondered what other news the messenger might have brought. All we ever heard in the great hall was how the Starks had won every battle they'd fought. But in truth, there had only been two – one on the Green Fork and the other at Whispering Wood. Robb Stark had indeed emerged victorious over the Lannisters, both father and son. But as I learnt from reading the letters addressed to father, but stored by the maester in his drawers, thousands of men had also perished. A few hundred of which had been our own. When father boasted about his future-son-in-law's 'victories', he failed to mention the deaths of our men. Perhaps he did so to create a sense of content in these times. Or perhaps he just didn't care.

I could hear the ravens croaking from the aviary as I passed it to get to the maester's room. I knocked on his door once and heard clanking sounds before it opened. His wide-eyed face popped out first. His expression suggested he was hiding something, but once he saw it was me, he quickly welcomed me inside.

"Oh, come in, come in. We have so much to get done with today." I could see the opened scroll on his table that the messenger had just brought to father. It was surrounded by several ledgers and letters, but our broken green wax seal stood out amongst all the broken red, black and grey ones. I wanted to know the exact contents of the letter, but I also knew it wasn't meant for my eyes.

"I read some of that book you gave me last week, the one by Archmaester Abelon." I exclaimed as I edged towards the letter.

"Hmm, When Women Ruled – Ladies of the Aftermath. And?" He panted out, as he tried to reach another giant ledger from the topmost shelf.

"It's quite enlightening, but I disagree with the tone in which it is written."

"Of course you do and I cannot wait to discuss it with you–" His huffing voice suggested he was already exhausted, not because of all the heavy lifting, but by me. I was humble enough to admit that I could be a little…domineering about my opinions, but I was brighter than most. Joyce said so too. Reading and sparring with words was how I could hone my mind. Someone once had told me that. Someone I despised very much.

"–but we have bigger things to deal with." I brought my attention back to what the maester was talking about and remembered what I had come here for.

"I overheard in the hall. War aid. Can we afford the requirements?"

"To a large extent." He pointed at the letter, urging me to read it. I huffed. All my inconspicuousness for nought. I supposed it wasn't one of those 'secret' letters that were always quickly stashed away whenever someone entered this chamber.

"This is a lot. Symond will never part with so much coin." I had barely read the letter but already the amounts seemed exorbitant. My brother Symond was a tightwad, more so than even our father, which was why he had been our treasurer for nearly twenty years.

"The letter comes from Black Walder. I am sure he would have only asked for what we could afford to send."

"Of course." I scoffed. Then I scoffed again at myself. The best I could do when he was actually in front of me was dither and squirm. Me scoffing at Black Walder's assumption of leadership, as if it were some big joke only I was smart enough to understand, was a joke in itself. Pathetic.

"So, shall we start? We need to tally our expenses this month and send Lord Symond the report. He might be the counter of coins but I have never seen a man so slow at the one job…" He carried on, scratching his balding head while I thoroughly went over Walder's missive.

Liquor, of course. Food items: hardbread, salted meat, oats…Medical supplies: silk, bandages, cotton, rubbing alcohol, vinegar, belladonna, fennel root, willow bark, tansy, milk of poppy and it went on for a page more. Most of this we had already restocked on beforehand due to Maester Brenett's keen foresight. The crops had yielded good this year so food would also not be a problem. It was the special medical supplies that would be the costliest, more so due to the huge quantities at which they were being demanded of us. It made me wonder why Black Walder was being so generous with the Starks' requests. Or was this the result of after bargaining with them? Surely the Starks had other resources than just us Freys. Or, maybe this was what all wars costed and I was once again looking too much into nothing.

"And where are your other sisters? Roslin was supposed to accompany you, was she not?" I shrugged in response. Roslin and I weren't that close for me to know her whereabouts at all times. But it was curious that she wasn't already here before me. She liked bookkeeping lessons more than I did.

"Also, Ayana, once we're finished here, could you ask Tyta if she is done with the poultices I requested her to make? Some of the stable boys have fallen quite ill. We can't afford to lose the few of which we have left." Maester Brenett grumbled his last words with a sullen expression, not befitting his usual amiable countenance. It seemed like everyone was displeased with the recent reduction in household staff.

"Of course, Maester Brenett."

The uppermost floors once used to house the most senile and insane of the Freys, often on the verge of death. But now no one wanted these rooms because they were seen as ominous. The rooms had become decrepit and winds howled through the gaps in the hallway walls due to lack of use and care. If one chose to reside in these rooms, it was accepted that either they were insane, or their death imminent. The fact that Tyta was the sole person who preferred to live on one of these floors, only solidified everyone's superstitious beliefs.

"Tyta? I brought you something to eat. You missed breakfast, and lunch." I called, knocking on her door. When I heard no response, I let myself in anyway. She was probably out in the woods, or too busy concocting recipes, for her to hear me. Unlike most of my sisters' rooms, hers I was allowed in whenever. "Maester Brenett asked if the healing poultices are ready yet…what are you doing?" I kept the food tray by her bedside and moved towards where she sat.

I found her hunched over her potion books and murmuring to herself. The only light in the room came from her small fireplace and when I reached to face her directly, I saw that she wasn't murmuring to herself, but the flames.

"Tyta?" Instantly, my voice seemed to wake her up from her daze.

"Oh! My lovely sister, how thoughtful of you. Come join me." She gestured for me to sit next to her and hold her hands while she…prayed. Shit. I looked towards the door to check if I had it properly latched before I did as she requested. We didn't do this often because the one time we had, the previous Lady Frey had caught us and father had had us both rapped on our knuckles. I didn't know what we'd done wrong. But as Joyce had put salve on my hands that night, she warned me to never betray my gods like that again. I hadn't understood what she meant when I was seven, but by fifteen, my septa had impressed upon me that I belonged to the Faith of the Seven and that if I wasn't faithful to my gods, they would punish me.

"Tyta, if someone finds out–"

"Hush, no one will." I tried to think of some excuse to leave the room but for some reason I found myself unable to move. I couldn't tell if it was because she had convinced me into this or if I was physically rendered not to.

"What are we doing?"

"Would you like to know what your future holds?" I wanted to exclaim no and dash out of the room. But a small part of me was intrigued by my sister, like I had always been. So instead I asked her what I always wanted to.

"Tyta, you're not a witch, are you?" Instantly, her face became awash with betrayal and I regretted my words. Everyone mocked her for being a spinster to her face, but behind her back, everyone was terrified of her, because they believed her to be a sorceress.

"Many would call me that, yes. But I do not like the term. I only dare to worship the one true god, and he tells me things. He has been telling me things for quite some time now." Well, I supposed there was no point beating around the bush any longer. Everyone had been right. She had abandoned the Faith for the red gods of the east. Or was it just one god? I had read something about this temple in Volantis…and I was getting distracted.

Tyta had once again turned her attention to the fireplace and she looked devastated. Tears started rolling down her cheeks and I became worried.

"What do you see?"

"I see…death. My death. Soon now. Don't die!" I jolted at her exclamation as she kept on rambling, whilst still facing the flames. "Oh 'yana, I won't be there to see your wedding. But you look so beautiful, so content. You are out of this world. Trust me, you have love in your eyes, and so does he. Lie to me. So innocent. Blue, blue, blue!"

"Tyta, you're scaring me." I couldn't seem to shake her away from the fire this time. She kept muttering away, things that didn't make any sense and some that did, terrifying me to my very core. The fire seemed to increase in its fervour with every chant she uttered.

"It's so cold. And dark, so very dark." She said with her eyes shut tight. And then all of a sudden she ceased moving, and the fire calmed.

"What is? Tyta? Wake up!"

"The night." Her head snapped towards mine. Her brown hair took on the colour of the flames behind her, as she opened her white eyes, with no pupils in them. "The night is dark, and full of terrors."

The fire extinguished itself and Tyta fell flat on her face.

"Help! Someone!"

"How is she now?"

Joyce and I were the only ones in the kitchens at the moment, with only the hearth giving us light. Given my recent experience with fire, I chose to stand as far away from it as possible. When I had screamed for help, none of my sisters had wanted to enter. Septa Elyse had stepped in the room to take me away from Tyta and remarked snidely that she had to be 'cleansed' once and for all. Her quirks had been tolerated so far because they usually involved her healer's touch, that could rival even the maester's, who himself relied on Tyta from time to time. Everyone tried to look the other way when Tyta would go to the woods by herself and return all bloodied with legs of rabbits and dead hatchlings and what not. She was strange, yes, but she was also one of the few older female figures I could look up to. In truth, most of what she did fascinated me as well. She'd once helped a farmer's boy recover from a bout of pox that even the maester had deemed incurable, when she was only seventeen. But today, whatever had happened, had been too much, even for me.

"Maester Brenett is examining her. I didn't go back to check on her though." Which I was feeling guilty about. Whenever I had been sick, she had always been by my bedside, whispering and putting healing charms around my bed. All I could do in return was run away from her.

"Good. She's always been odd, that one. She might be your sister but I have never thought her influence good for ya. I've seen you two huddled together, readin your spell books."

"Seven hells! They are books for making medicinal potions and poultices, nothing more. You of all people should know how useful a skill like hers can be. When your mother got sick a year ago, it was Tyta who scoured through her books all night and found the herb mixture that helped her get all better."

"I know that, and I will forever be grateful to her." And she must truly be, because my words seemed to have made her embarrassed. However, even her embarrassment couldn't stop her from expressing her fears. "But, everyone knows she concerns herself with blasphemous notions. Everyone says she renounced the Faith for the Lord of Light long ago."

I couldn't say much to that. I wanted to forget the entire day altogether and go to bed. But my stomach growled.

"Ayana, have you eaten anything today?"

"No, hadn't the time."

"Horseshite. Don't think you're foolin anyone. You are still growing 'yana and I know I'm no' your mother. But, I will force food down your gullet if I have to, if I see you starvin yourself again, ya hear?" A scolding, perfect. Just what I needed after being traumatised. Her northern voice had become sharper which usually happened whenever she got agitated. Which meant that she must truly be worried for me.

"Yes, I hear." After being properly shamed, I took a bite out of the fluffiest honeybread I had tasted, that Joyce had freshly pulled out of the oven. Since the war began, a lot of the kitchen and other servant staff had left as part of the men's retinue, and a large part of the household workload had fallen on people who weren't accustomed to this kind of work. Joyce was Derwa's handmaid, but now she also helped spearhead the kitchens, until a proper cook could be hired. I and Walda often helped her but we both still had lessons, that were becoming unimportant by the day. Roslin and I tried to help Maester Brenett with his ledgers since Olyvar, Whalen and Perwyn had all left to fight. The Frey women had taken over most of the work around the keep, and as exciting as our days had gotten from before, it was also exhausting. On top of that, most of my sisters had already started abandoning their duties. Joyce might be a stern matronly woman but for some reason even she couldn't seem to threaten my sisters into helping.

"Do you know where the rest of my sisters have been? I hardly see them anymore."

"You don't know?"

"No. Should I?"

I could see Joyce hesitate, measuring for the right words. I didn't think the reason behind my sisters' absence could be anything sinister, but her hesitation made me think otherwise.

"Your father, well, he ordered for new septas, from Oldtown."

I raised a brow at Joyce so she could elaborate further. We already had a septa and she wasn't on the brink of death. And even if she were, we would only need the one to replace her.

"Derwa's got one for herself. A mean old hag really but she's helping her, I think."

"Helping her? Derwa's eighteen. She no longer needs a septa. And since when does each and every girl get her own septa? Septa Elyse teaches all of us at once and there's twenty of us."

"Not every girl, Ayana. Only the ones your father has chosen. The ones that he thinks are fit to marry the king."

"Oh. How many?"

"Like six or so."

"I don't understand. Septas are meant for children, not women."

"These ones are different. The septas I mean. They're more like…tutors. They are to help with etiquette and courtesies and such. To make for a good wife and–"

"Queen."

Roslin, Marissa and I were the only ones left that held the slightest interest in helping the maester maintain his ledgers. We all liked to read in our spare time and this was a little like reading. I personally enjoyed it. It was peaceful in his chamber and the sums kept my mind occupied. But today I found myself distracted. Joyce's information about the so-called new septas tutoring the chosen sisters seemed excessive. Septas were sent to a household to educate girls to be proper wives, but six were just too many. How a sept could even manage such a large contribution to a single household, I couldn't fathom. I looked at my two sisters and wondered if they were one of the chosen ones to receive such special treatment.

I could definitely see Roslin as a queen. She was a year elder to me and she was quite lovely looking. She played the harp well, was well-read and her nature was calm. But her full blood sister Derwa would outshine her any day. Her hazel eyes and prominent cheekbones all made for a very regal look. She already thought herself a queen anyway, might as well make it official. I could even see Fair Walda giving her a run for her money, with her golden locks and cerulean eyes. If only she hadn't already devoted herself to one man. Alyx was also one our beauties, a year elder to me and already quite nubile. If father was selecting the daughters he would finally present to Robb Stark, like Joyce had implied, and each of them had been bestowed with their personal tutors, that meant–

Oh.

I wasn't one of them.

For some reason, despite Joyce having told this to me quite plainly, I had failed to register at the moment that I had not been considered as a choice for King Robb. Maybe I had registered but chosen to ignore it at the time so Joyce wouldn't see how it did sting, just a little.

But it didn't hurt as much until Arwyn rubbed it in my face.

"I got one. Gods even Zia got one. I guess you are now officially an unwanted Frey woman, shaming our house because of your hideous looks."

This wasn't the first time Arwyn had made a pointed remark about my looks, and after having heard them for so long, I had built up a slight tolerance. However, it was what her statement implied that made me truly reflect my position.

For some reason, Robb Stark had become so essential to us, seemingly overnight, that our worth was being determined by his whims. He was marrying one of us so he could get a bridge and our resources in dowry. Whoever got chosen would have to live with the fact that her worth was decided for her, forever. 'The Queen in the North costs one bridge and half an army!'

And the rest of us who didn't get chosen? The rest of us would have to live with the fact that our worth was less than a bridge. I hated the king more than anything, for this. That by making the pact with our lord father, he had deemed each of us unworthy in one sweep. And we would believe it too. Because who else but a king could decide such a thing. He was now the most important man in our world.

If this had been a typical exchange, the Stark King would have bought his passage by giving us something in exchange. That is what Maester Brenett taught us how deals worked. You gained something by losing something. If Robb Stark had gained a bridge, in return, he had lost his right to choose his own wife. Therefore, what we represented for him, was loss. For our father, he gained an affiliation to a king by granting him our support, and we became the medium of that exchange – for him, we were a currency. But for the king, we were less than even that. Because for the king we were the very act of his great sacrifice. We were the pain that came with killing love for the sake of duty.

Who in the seven hells would ever want to be all of that?

As I looked into Arwyn's smug face, I prayed that if she ever hurt me, truly, she would get what she so desperately wanted. That she would be the one burdened with the awareness that her husband would only ever see her as a loss – a painful act of sacrifice. And that her total worth equalled an old road made of mud and bricks.

"She is running a fever."

"Is that the reason why she collapsed? I don't see why I had to come all the way here to see her like this. You expect me to do what? Put warm washcloth on her forehead? Sing her a lullaby? I am sure she'll be fine, she's nearing thirty."

"Two of the stable boys I had been administering have already perished. I overheard in the markets that some local traders have been in similar conditions, coughing up blood and running quite the temperature, and shivering until their last breath. And now Lady Tyta looks to be sharing similar symptoms. The first two times I assumed it was a common lung infection, but lungwort would have worked if it had been."

"So? What does this mean?"

"I-I might have to inspect the nearby villages and see if this is something–"

"A plague?!"

"My Lord, please! If you could lower your voice. We don't want to cause any panic. We can't be sure of anything yet. But in case this is an…outbreak, I'll have to perform bloodletting immediately and bar entry to this entire floor, for as long as needed."

"Oh, we are going to do much more than just that. Inspect every single person in the household before any of them get close to me and mine, you understand?! The Twins will shut their gates forthwith."

Within minutes of their exit from Tyta's room, I could hear my father yelling downstairs, prohibiting everyone from entering the upper floor. So much for not causing panic. I was already on my way to her chambers when I had caught the exchange between the maester and father and hid behind a tapestry until they both left.

I stepped inside Tyta's room to see how she was doing since the last time I saw her. I had thought that her fainting spell was because she hadn't eaten, or maybe due to her…praying. But looking at her grey-hued skin, I could see the maester was right. She was grievously ill. In the span of two days, her appearance had changed so drastically, she was barely recognisable. Her hair looked thinner, her cheeks looked gaunt and despite being piled on with thick blankets, she kept trembling. A bowl was sat next to her, I assumed for the blood she was coughing up. I could no longer hold my tears back.

"Tyta, you'll be fine, I promise. The maester's already started working on getting you better." She had been the only elder sister who had looked after me, cared for me, nurtured me. And I was terrified she was going to leave me by myself. I couldn't lose her. By this time tomorrow, she would already be hunched over her books, reciting the list of ingredients needed for some new ailment, that I would go collect for her happily. She would slip me a vial of arrowroot powder so my fat thighs wouldn't chafe and burn in this constant muggy weather. I needed her to assure me that she would be fine, even if she wouldn't be.

"N-no, my bird. This is it for me. My time has come. And I wanted to g-give you something. Your hand." I gave it to her without hesitation. "My wedding gift, to you."

"I'm not getting married, Tyta. You're dreaming." Why was this happening so quickly? I had seen a few deaths over the years and the last words of those dying never made much sense. Septa Elyse told us that before passing over to the afterlife, the Stranger gave the dying a last moment of happiness, in the form of dreams.

"Yes, you are. Look into the flames, sweetling. They will guide you, always."

Author's Note: Hello! Sorry for such a long delay but I have just realised how damn difficult it is to put one's thoughts into just the right kind of words. I have always admired fanfic writers, but now my level of admiration for them has been multiplied by a thousand. The rest of my note below might be a little spoiler-y, so please feel free to skip it. It just lays out what I want to accomplish with this fic as a fanfic writer.

My intention with this fic is to not just introduce an OC and have her fall in love with the main character and have that be her only purpose (not at all saying that that's a bad thing, just something I am trying not to do). I want more from my character in this story, otherwise what's the point of writing a story with an OC? The world of GoT is so rich and I want to explore its dynamics from a more ground level and having a sort of irrelevant (as of yet) character give her perspective on the larger events is something I really enjoy to read and want to write. Which means for me, more fleshing out of the OC. Which also means more filler chapters like this to establish her environment, her personality, background, etc., because just as you are getting to know her, I am too. But don't worry, this is still a Robb/OFC fic, which means the Young Wolf will eventually arrive. One day. In like two or three chapters.

Also, also, apart from introducing my OC as the element of change, another element of change I have introduced, which will become a big part for the future chapters is a big ol' plague. (Winter is coming in various forms in this one)

Again, thank you so much for reading, favouriting, following and reviewing my fic. It really does mean a lot. Until next time!