Chapter Four: Hope
Lifetimes had flown by—of drifting through leaves and shadows and moonlight and icy caves, of beasts chasing, of running and getting caught—when I opened my eyes in this one. Exposed wooden beams above, my first sight. The rest lay submerged in the blue darkness of early dawn. The first few glimmers of red slowly bled through the blackened windows at the far end of the chamber. But not enough to enliven the room. To enliven me.
I blinked once and suddenly could hear my first sounds; beds groaning and floorboards creaking, a lone, long cough and then a gurgle. Turning my severely heavy head to the side, I was faced with a woman with straw-coloured hair, clasping my hand in both of hers. Her head was bowed as she muttered away to herself. I knew her. Almost wanted to call her mother, but no. That had stopped being right ages ago.
"Jo–Joyce?"
"Ayana? Oh the Gods have mercy!" Tears streamed down her pale, haggard face as she appraised me from head to heel. "How do you feel?" How did I... feel-how did I feel-how feel-feel-feel.
"I...wa–water."
Her hands shook, as she poured some into a tumbler, and urged me to lift my neck off the pillow and take small sips. "Here you go. Oh, you've been such a strong girl." Had she? How had she–?
"I'll go get the maester." I blinked once more and the room seemed slightly brighter as bright yellow spots peeked through the smudgy windows, and Joyce was standing with a talking man.
"...The fever appears to have broken, and the tremors have largely dissipated. My lady, you have made a miraculous recovery. You are the first to have survived under my watch." I glanced at Joyce in confusion, failing to grasp his words.
"How…long…?"
"You have been in and out of awareness for more than five weeks now, my lady. Or–or so I am told. I only just got he–"
"Wh-what's hap-happened to me?" Joyce and not-Maester Brenett exchanged a strange look, which I could only describe as exhaustion and something else that I could not identify. The maester produced a small book out of thin air and began doling out a lesson on the events of the past weeks he had managed to note down: it had been five weeks since I fell to the Shivers, a plague that had killed one out of five men just a century ago during one of the harshest winters, brought about from the east by rats. At some point I had stopped listening, however at the mention of Tyta, my attention renewed. He thought I had possibly caught the disease from her. Presently, the disease had taken the lives of a few people in the keep and many were abed with it. He was about to go into further detail when Joyce loudly cleared her throat to make him cease for the love of the gods.
"Wh–wh–who el-else…?" I couldn't seem to get my words out fully. Panicking, I wondered if the illness had damaged my brains, or broken my tongue.
"Shirei is alright." Joyce quickly reassured me, knowing my thoughts without even hearing them. "Some of the other children however…" Looking around the room, I found I was no longer in that dingy hovel I was once put in. There were several others lying in beds. The maester left my side to check on them, probably hoping for another recovery like mine.
Joyce raked her soothing, callused fingers through my hair, still in disbelief. "You have been in and out for days. Broth was all I could manage to feed you. Gods, Ayana. I can't believe you're al–awake." As this reality sunk in further, and I became more aware of myself, seeing her harrowed face, I realised what a burden I must have been. She'd prayed for me, fed me, cleaned me, all while risking herself.
"We'll get you to your chambers right away. Your family will rejoice to hear of you." Joyce quickly wrapped me in her large shawl that she was barely using to cover herself up with. As soon as she touched me, I recoiled from her. How could she be so foolish as to stay in this plague ridden keep? Not caring about my qualms, she pulled me out of bed, lending me her entire body to support my weight. As soon as she opened the door however, a gust of crisp, cool air wafted through me, making me notice for the first time the putrid stench that engulfed this chamber, and specifically the stench that I gave off. I instantly heaved all the remains of the broth she had fed me atop her feet.
"S'okay. 'Tis not the first time."
Climbing down the steps, we stopped for breaks four times before we finally reached my bedchamber. Abandoned was the only way I could describe it. There was no Walda to welcome me in her arms, no Shirei to jump over me, no Ami passed out across her sheets. There were no sheets even. The closet was ajar and empty. The shelves were empty. The bed was just a frame of wood. Everything was stripped ruthlessly bare. I didn't know why Joyce had brought me here. I couldn't even sit on anything, much less lie down.
"They purged almost everything in this room. Almost everyone's vacated the keep, except for the new maester and the ill. The rest shifted to the water tower and the western castle."
"Is it safe t-to be…in here?"
"Yes, of course it is. The maester said you don't catch the disease twice so you are in no danger."
"I wasn't ta-talking a-bout m-myself."
"I'm fine, Ayana. Stop worrying. Now, you wait right here, I will get someone to bring in a mattress, some linens and then we'll get you cleaned up. How's that sound, hmm?"
I nodded and slid myself down the wall to sit. It all felt so peculiar. A part of me was suspicious at not finding anyone living on this floor, let alone this entire castle. Had Joyce lied to me? Did everyone actually vacate these rooms to prevent the spread of illness or…or did all of them die and Joyce was waiting for the right moment to break it to me, that her and I were the only ones left alive?
A woman of her word, Joyce accomplished all of her tasks in no time and managed to haul in a copper tub and buckets of steaming hot water. Seeing two young boys enter, faces haphazardly wrapped in cloth and carrying my mattress, assuaged me that at the very least there were other living men around. They left, she undressed me and I let myself sink in the scalding water. Pausing in her ministrations, I heard her uncork something, and all of a sudden I was hit with the unmistakable scent of orange blossoms. Not everything had been destroyed after all. I let myself droop in relaxation and came to face my lower half.
My thighs. Had always hated my thighs. My meaty, flabby thighs were the banes of my existence. I pinched them often, imagining myself plucking off the excess flesh I did not require. I starved myself, I climbed up and down the steps as much as I could, I briskly walked everywhere, but nothing seemed to work. My thighs jiggled, my breasts jiggled, even my face jiggled. Most of my sisters were slender. My own mother had been slender.
Turned out, teetering on the Stranger's door for five weeks was the trick I had needed. There was not enough flesh on my bones for me to pinch off anymore. Joyce stopped scrubbing my back when she noticed my prodding.
"You'll be healthy once you start eating properly again."
I knew it was so ungrateful of me to be even thinking this. But I preferred myself this way. I would never voice those thoughts aloud however, or Joyce would give me a sound thwack 'round the ear. After she was done washing my back and my hair, I asked her leave me to wash my front myself. I ran my fingers over my receded chest and my protruding collarbone. I couldn't wait to see myself fully in the mirror. When she left to gather some garments for me, I climbed out of the tub and finally gazed upon my reflection in the mirror. An involuntary gasp came out of me at what I saw. With the noon light filtering in, I could see every single detail of my body.
I looked rotten.
The legs had become bent around the knees, rounding outward like a wishbone. The stomach was still slightly fleshy but looked at odds with the protruding ribs. The once chubby arms were now long and sickly. But the face. That was beyond recognition.
My cheeks had hollowed into dark pits. My eyes had bulged out, on the verge of popping out of their sockets. The skin beneath the eyes was such a strange purplish colour, I was sure someone had pummelled me in my sleep. My skin, that Joyce often said resembled the shade of honey – a colour I never appreciated much on me, always desiring to be as fair as Fair Walda or as pink as Roslin – now looked papery thin and ashen. And my hair! My hair that once filled up my enclosed fist even when wet, now barely encompassed the space between my thumb and forefinger.
I resembled the corpse I'd been so close to being. This was the body they would have buried me as.
Joyce returned to find me sobbing and naked on the floor. "Come now. We have to dress you Ayana or else you'll get a chill." She hauled me up on my feet, dressing me in some slim girl's dress. For how strong Joyce always was, I was shocked to hear her sniffling and when our eyes met, I saw how much I truly meant to her.
"You have no idea how happy I am that you're alright." For some reason, her sentimentality was revolting me. Where was she when they dragged me away like some unruly animal. And now that I had recovered and was safe to be around, why was I still relegated away from everyone?
"Why am I here? C-can I not move to the Water Tower with the rest of you all?"
"Your father is just being cautious, is all. The disease spreads so quickly. After you fell ill, a few of the young ones did as well. Colmar and Waltyr passed away just two weeks past."
Once I was buried under enough blankets to satisfy Joyce, she began to leave to arrange my supper, but not before she wished me a happy nameday. I started at her to see if she was joking. She wasn't. "Thanks." She gave a wane smile, gently closing the door on her way out.
Finding myself alone once more, I awaited Joyce to return soon. If no one else, I would at the very least spend my nameday with her. Not that it was a grand affair when I was in good health. I shared my nameday with a pair of twin nephews so the most that happened was that the kitchens would cook up something special and father would announce his wishes at dinner (if someone remembered to tell him). Considering the number of us, there was at least one nameday each week, so the occasion had lost much of its meaning anyway. But Joyce always made sure that the kitchens received orders to prepare me my favourite dish – made from the gift my grandfather routinely sent for me each year; Dornish lemons. I wondered if he had sent a crate this time around, which never managed to reach our gates because the bridge was barred. They'd be rotting away at the port. My skin contained the only citrus I would smell today, so I took in a long whiff of my wrists, and imagined myself gorging on the plumpest, sweetly-tart lemoncakes…
Someone was rousing me awake from sleep I didn't remember falling into. It had been far more soothing this time for I'd had a gentle dream — a little boy sucking on sour lemons and then passing them to me after he had turned them sweet. But I awoke to find my mouth bitter and burnt. The lit candle on my bedside alerted me to the change in time and when I fully opened my eyes, I found a stranger hovering over me.
"My lady, I have to—"
"Wha—Who are you?!"
"Uh, I'm Alan. I was there when you awoke this morning, my lady. Lady Joyce called me maester earlier—but I am not! I am still in learning," he answered, bashfully, with hands flopping about.
"You are not a maester, yet?"
He nodded and to assuage me, from the satchel on his waist, he brandished a short chain of metal links in a perfected motion. "But I have acquired my silver link." Right, the one for medicine and healing that Maester Brenett made sure to display on his chest every day. The same maester who had abandoned us in our plight.
"Hmm. Do you have the one that says you can turn something into gold?"
"What–? No, we do not have links for alchemy, my lady."
"I know. I was – I was speaking in jest."
"Oh? Ha! Quite droll, my lady." His stuttering laugh was forceful, but seemed genuine in its attempt to make me feel better. I decided I liked this boy, maester or no. He began to ask questions about my symptoms, pulling out my tongue with a spoon-like device, running his hand over my neck, measuring my pulse, stretching my fingers away from my outstretched palm and then letting them spring back, checking if they still shook. "I can see that your stammer has already gone. How are you feeling now, my lady?"
"Weak. Tired. Verging on death." I wondered if that sounded ungrateful.
"Well, you were. I was not exaggerating earlier when I said your recovery was a miracle." Now I liked this boy, but the way he was now observing me with such studious intent, I reminded myself not to get too comfortable.
"So, should I refer to you as maester or–?"
"Oh, no. You can call me Acolyte Alan. That is how they refer to me at the Citadel—or just Alan is fine." No, just Alan was not fine. What was taking Joyce so long anyway, I wondered.
"What about the war? Is that still going on? Have the men returned home?" I asked, trying to force a conversation but in all honesty, I wanted to make sure this world was my world. The last I was awake, a war had been afoot and our lives had been shaken because of it. It had only been five weeks, but with so much changing, it felt like years had gone by.
"I am not sure…?" he replied in a lilted voice, as he turned to the basin in the corner, pouring some liquid from a bottle to wash his hands, and turned to me with a childish gleam in his eyes, sitting himself on the chair beside me. "When I was travelling through the Reach, banners were raised for Renly Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell had been crowned his queen—and Stannis Baratheon had raised his banners as well! We must have seen hundreds, no thousands of men – infantry, cavalry, marksmen – Baratheon flag waving against Baratheon flag. So the war is still ongoing, I suppose."
His voice then turned from exuberant to solemn in an instant. "But if things last like this for long, there won't be enough men left to fight with, or against." The names he'd mentioned were not the ones familiar to me in regards to the war I had asked about. I could only wonder if this was a different war or if it now involved more characters.
"How long have you been here at the Twins?"
"Not even a sennight, actually. Since the war began, a few of us acolytes volunteered our services to help the wounded. But we also wanted to witness these momentous events. To be there in person so when ultimately we record the history of Westeros, we write it with as much accuracy as possible. You see, most tomes are writt— "
"This all sounds fascinating, Maester Alan but if my lady is not dying, perhaps you could look at your other patients? Also you'll find some supper waiting for you in your chambers," Joyce announced herself, saving me once more.
"Oh? Oh, thank you, Lady Joyce. Lady Ayana." He nodded at me and meekly shuffled his way past her, tripping over himself. Gods, could she be frightening when she wanted to be.
"You know he's not a maester, right?"
"I know. But he insists on calling me 'my lady' and I like the pretence."
"He talks too much."
"I know! For a man studying to be a dusty, wrinkled bookkeeper he sure does love the sound of his own voice. But, he is helping us, and hasn't asked for much. Yet."
Once my belly was half-full with watered-down porridge, I asked Joyce of her version of events of the past weeks she'd slept through. "It all just happened so fast. One day everything was fine and the next...Tyta...and then you, and after that, Lord Frey barricaded the rooms one by one as more fell sick. Some didn't even fall sick—were just dead come morning. Then he decided all those who were not sick were to vacate their rooms and move to the water tower and the western castle, and use this one to house all the ill."
"So, if everyone's gone, who's been running this part of the keep?"
"Well…me, mostly. All I do is order the remaining household around, but honestly, what is left to run? Everyone gets sent here to die. All the men we need are for carrying bodies inside and then carrying them back outside to burn 'em."
"Isn't father doing anything? Maester Brenett? Are we all to just wait here and die?" I could now name that unnameable expression on her and the acolyte's faces earlier, one of helplessness.
"You are not dying, Ayana. You survived. Anyhow, we don't know anything of what's happening out there. The bridge is barred, the Kingsroad has been closed off so there's not been much trade of supplies. The boy-maester managed to get here somehow. He was helping the villagers at first but I requested him to help us and he accepted." That was kind of him, I could admit.
"What do we do now?"
"Well you regain your strength, and then we will see about moving you to the Water Tower as well. I've sent Maester Brenett a missive."
"What about you?"
"I'll stay on. Someone needs to man this castle."
"But you're not a steward. It's not your job."
"Well Lame Lothar is busy running the other two buildings, and no one wants to step inside here." Ayana had thought she'd stayed on just for her, but turned out Joyce was loyal not just to her, but everyone.
"So, I turned ten and seven today?"
"Oh yes! And I have something for you too. Close your eyes." I did and next thing I knew was the smell of sweet citrus.
"Joyce! How…?"
"Well we don't have any lemons but I did manage to find a vial of lemon oil…"
As I nibbled on my vaguely lemony present, I saw the familiar old face of our mute stable-master, Kirth at the door, who handed a short missive to Joyce, giving me a tired smile and leaving as quickly as he'd come. I heard Joyce sigh in disappointment. "I am sorry Ayana, but you can't move. Your father thinks it best you stay here. They've barred the gates to anyone who comes here, even if recovered. Piece of utter shite. Pardon me, Ayana." She bowed her head in dejection but I could not believe my ears.
"Wha—? How do we—How can they—Do we have…food? And who's going to clean–what about guard—who's going to bring in water from the river—and what about coin—?
Joyce breached my rant, "We have enough to last us for quite some time. Thankfully the maester had the sense to hoard resources in case of a long siege, and most of it was stored here, so as much as your father wishes to distance himself from us, he needs us to feed him and his. As for guards, your father has graciously let about a dozen to man the outer gates. Both towards the bridge and to the east."
"I don't–I don't understand. How will we function as a separate keep? Who'll make all the decisions and make sure things are in order? Will you keep doing it? How does father not object to that?" So many questions, and no one to expect an answer from. I looked at Joyce helplessly, hoping she would lift her chin and with her usual assertive gaze announce that she would assume the full duties of the keep, that she would take care of everything. A true lady of this keep, if there ever was one.
But instead, she bowed her head, taking my hand in hers once more and with sympathetic eyes, let me know the way of things from now on. "Ayana, it must be you."
"What? But I don't know anything!"
"You don't have to right away. I will help you, of course. But you are right. I am unfit to call myself a steward, much less a lady. And as awful as it is, you are the oldest surviving Frey in this part of the castle, which means that until your father opens his gates to us, and reassumes his seat here, you are the lady of the eastern castle."
A lady. The lady. What did being the lady even mean? From what I had seen over the years of living here, being the lady entailed looking beautiful, sitting quietly beside your husband during feasts and such, and returning to your chambers, waiting for your husband to...well...whatever they did. If said lady was fortunate enough to bear her lord husband's children – and in this keep the lady was always plenty fortunate – then she might devote some of her time to look after them, until the wet-nurse or septa came of course. And then one fine day the lady would give birth for the hundredth time, perish, and make way for the next lady to take over, and the cycle would begin anew.
I clearly did not meet these criteria. I was ugly, unwed and childless, but according to the latest missive in my hands, penned by Bastard Brenett, signed and sealed by my Lord father, I was to be the Lady of the Eastern Castle of the Twins, until either my father reconnected the water tower and the western keep with us and return to his seat here, or an elder male relative dared to step foot in this castle. Until such a time, the eastern keep was to function on its own, with no outside help or control.
I snorted in disbelief, then burst into a raucous laughter in the morning light of my vacant chambers, because I couldn't stop thinking what a nameday present this made — my father had gifted me an entire castle! This was certainly one way to make up for all the other namedays my father had not given two figs about. No. No, I couldn't, I couldn't–! Perhaps Joyce would just keep doing what she was doing this whole time and she would just need me to say yes this, yes that to her work…
Dear Father,
It is quite strange to be communicating with you through a letter, as you are not but a few feet away from me. I hope everything is well over at The Tower. I wished to know how the state of affairs were concerning the disease. Is everyone faring well in the smaller housing? Has the maester any news about how long this plague will last? Fortunately, I myself have made a splendid recovery and will do my best to oversee those who continue to remain afflicted. You have placed upon me a huge honour as well as a daunting task, which I shall accomplish to the best of my abilities. I hope we all reunite soon.
Sincerely,
Your daughter, Ayana
Dear Maester Brenett,
Since our last count, we have lost five more members of the family, six of the household staff, and have made space for fifteen new sick ones. We are running low on beds so if you had any to spare, do pass them to the Eastern Castle.
If possible, please come see the ailing. Me, Joyce and the acolyte are trying our best, but a maester of your calibre might guide us better. I would not tell father this, but we are desperate for help. I am desperate, as I do not know if I am doing the right things. I await your quick response and your help.
May the Gods keep us all safe,
Ayana
Father,
It is with deep sadness that I inform you of Stevron's and Edwyn's passing. It was quick, Gods be good. Alyx is severely ill as well and I fear she may not last the night. She keeps asking for her mother and I do not know how to help her. The upper two floors of the keep are flooded with the sick and for convenience sake I have decided to relegate the lower floors for the sick and dying henceforth. Your chambers remain untouched, but that may not last with the rate of people moving in.
I hope you are keeping well father.
Ayana Frey
Maester Brenett,
In your last missive you mentioned five more persons being sent here but you forgot to inform me that my sister Shirei was one of them. Acolyte Alan says that she might not survive as the symptoms do not seem to abate. I urge you once more to come visit and see to her. You surely have far more experience and knowledge and I am calling upon your maester's chain. Come soon.
Lady Ayana Frey
Father,
First, Happy Nameday. It is strange to me that we are nearing a year since this calamity fell upon us. Second, I wanted to let you know that I have decided to open the gates to some of the smallfolk children who are in desperate need of help. We have the resources and the beds. In exchange, their kin have volunteered to replace the household staff at their own peril. I will keep you and Maester Brenett informed of how many we let in in. I am also attaching the list of expenses of this month and my calculations for next month for yours and Maester Brenett's perusal.
Ayana Frey, Lady of the Eastern Castle
Author's Note: Wow, hello. Yeah, it's been a while. Over 3 years since I last updated. I was honestly ready to abandon this fic because my heart wasn't in it anymore. Since the ending of GoT was so objectively bad, I stopped seeing the point in fleshing this out. But after watching House of the Dragon and then seeing my over 50k words of story outline and because plot bunnies still pop into my head here and there, I decided to keep on writing this. I have also decided to make this a fix-it fanfic and rip the tv show canon apart, which has become my central motivation to continue this.
I also want to prove to myself that I can write, so I will definitely try to churn at least 1 chapter a month. That's the hope anyway. Not sure how many people are still interested in a fanfic of this variety, but if anyone is reading this, thank you.