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Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

Ethon glanced to the fire some, as it had been brought to life when he had entered the room. His head turned back as his hands had been fumbling with his ties, “I’m sure I can manage something for you.” He offered to her. He noted how she turned away as he continued to undress, it was a private moment, but he wondered if she wanted to see him the way he wished to see her.

He pulled a shirt from his trunk and searched through some pants, attempting to find something small enough for her. Or really just smaller than his general clothing, so she could be more comfortable. He managed an older pair of riding pants and he bunched the clothes together, holding them for her. “Here.” His eyes glancing from her face downward to her in her dress just slightly. A bit disappointed his clothes wouldn’t cling to her the way her dress did.

He turned now, pulling his shirt off completely now and pushing his trousers as well. He pulled on a more comfortable pair of cotton trousers for the night and stood facing the wall still, unsure of when she would be done undressing and changed. He didn’t want to turn and intrude, but he thought about peaking, if even for a moment. Ultimately, he decided against it.

Once she was finished he still didn’t turn right away, he moved over towards his bed, sitting the pillows up a bit more. He scratched his bare chest for a moment and then he motioned to the food, “Uh, like you said, let’s eat in front of the fire.” He now moved over to the food, taking some bread and meat for himself so she could have the tray. He picked up the cup of ale he had, and downed about half of it, it still did little to ease him, he was unsure of himself and why he was struck so nervous by her.

“Sorry I couldn’t get anything fresh. We could have joined the other lords.” He told her, “But I thought some peace and quiet would have been better. We’ll be dealing with Conrads inappropriate mutters for the next few days, as well as Lyram’s worried words.” He added, a small smile pushing to his lips, his eyes attempting not to try and find her womanly curves in his clothing that hung from her oddly. It was odd, and also oddly sexy, his jaw tightened a moment. “Hopefully the room will warm soon, usually takes a couple minutes, sometimes I put a rag in the bottom of the door and by the window, keep any air from getting out.”

*

Hector’s eyes were on the Prince’s as the Prince gripped him right back. Only the beginning, dependant, but Hector would not let them be defeatable. Now the Prince’s hand was on his chin, and Hector thought of gripping the Prince’s wrist now. But he knew better, he’d let the Prince have his upper hand here, Hector knew exactly what had to be done.

What had caught Hector’s attention though, was the mention of them leading together. In Illguard he would have a say in the greatest decisions made in Armath. The Prince would listen to him. And once Roddrick had a taste of Hector’s prick, he was sure the Prince would mold to his grip.

The Prince now moved away, taking the book, and Hector was sure the terms would be made, he would convince his father. Although he knew his father was already on board, and it was really just a written agreement that had to be signed by both Lord Sterling and King Corban now. “Good evening then, your grace.” He spoke to the Prince as he made his way further into the books.

*

Conrad huffed a bit, “No Ethon, no Hector. We are leaving to hunt… whatever the hell it is the girl saw, and nothing, no one.” Conrad was speaking to his eldest brother now. “I don’t see why we cannot be bothered with normal Lords issues. Finding a wife, perhaps hiding that we’ve fathered a bastard.” Conrad huffed.

“Something you’ve surely accomplished by now.” One of their men chuckled to another sitting at the table. Young Lords from neighboring houses. They came with their fathers, and other men on the first night of the King and the Royal guards arrival, for the feast. But during the duration of the stay, only one would be required to remain. The one who spoke was a ghastly man, his skin more gray than pale, Chandren Celli, of house Celli. House Celli was one of the most northern positioned houses, they were near the cliffs of the sea, in the furthest most north pier, and their land received even less sunlight than here. Chandren was the eldest son, he was a few years older than Lyram, and his father was soon to be dead. House Celli was a noble northern house, always held great loyalty those of house Sterling. Chandren was much like his father, something Hector often pointed as a good sign, that their ties would remain strong. Both men often full of wit, with little filter and knew they Sterlings more as friends, and in a setting such as this evening, could speak to Conrad with a more jovial tone.

Next to him was a man taller than Conrad, with a pointed nose and bent ears, by his figure one would have guessed him older than he was. His lack of emotion, and really his inability to ever show even much as a smile caused fear when others interacted with him. Tarick Stoneshire was of house Stoneshire, raised at the base of one of the mountains in the North, their house responsible for mining ore from the great mountains to produce stones for the Northern houses.
 
In spite of her gaze resting on the dancing flames, Aiyda’s eyes itched to take a peek behind her, a strange desire when she would have once shivered at the thought of intruding over such a private moment, just as she would at another indecently peeking at her. Instead, she pursed her lips as she held the two garments in her hands, and eventually placed them down on her lap and began to untie the laces of her own dress. The tightness of it around her middle was comforting, and offered additional warmth, but lacked the comfort of something more loose. Nothing would ever truly match the clothes made by her mother.

She could feel the heat of the fire tingle her now bare skin as soon as the material draped over her hips. She pushed it down and wiggled slightly in its hold, then slipped out of it and donned Ethon’s old clothes, crisp and clean from not having been worn in a good while. They smelled like soap and lavender, slightly tinged by smoke, but otherwise pleasant. She pulled at the laces in the front of the shirt and tightened it slight about her chest, then tucked the overhanging material into the loose trousers, before gathering the latter at the waist with a tight not.

When she turned around, she could see the unease etched on Ethon’s face even in the shadow playing on his features. The sight amused her slightly, and she could not help but let a tired simper slip on the corner of her lips. “Must be strange to a man like you, who grew up around gentle Lords.” She reclaimed her seat on the pillows and watched him eat and drink, taking a bite or a sip from her own ale every now and then.

By the time the fire started to die down, Aiyda’s lashes had already begun to flutter, now warm against the pillows beneath her. It had not taken long, perhaps a turn of the clock or two; she had lost count after finishing the food on her plate, and the few gulps of ale Ethon had brought her, had only added to the weight on her lids. Low on the floor, she could feel a slight breeze creep from beneath the door, but did not mind it so close to the fire. Ethon’s own form seemed to block it, and she was grateful for that, or perhaps for his presence as a whole.

“I do not want to fall asleep,” Aiyda murmured, her cheeks damp as she struggled to stay awake. The silence was soothing, luring her to sleep like a quiet lullaby. The pillows felt more comfortable than a mattress in that moment, or rather, a better alternative to having to rise from her makeshift nest and settle herself down on his bed. A part of her was hesitant, wondering if Ethon had wanted to be alone for the night. “Wake me...” she managed, but did not finish the sentence before slumber imbued the room with a dulcet darkness.





The door creaked in the night, a soft noise over the fire which caused Aiyda to jolt awake. She had shifted in her sleep, and found herself now closer to the source of heat by her side, clinging on to it like a pillow, whilst the fire burned softly somewhere outside her line of sight. The mere thought of leaving her bed felt cruel in that moment of morning confusion; her mind was still muddled from the dreamless sleep, and she wished for nothing more than to ease back into her slumber, by the warm mass curled by her side.

“The Lords have gathered, Dame Saeberian. ‘Tis the crack of down.” A head popped from behind the old archway, with dark hair and pale cheeks, which by the gentle murmur she recognized to be Lehna. “I have brought clothes...”

A wave of abashment washed over Aiyda then, as she realised where she was, and that the girl had noticed she had been missing from her own chamber. Despite addressing her, she did not peek, but instead placed a dark pile on the chair by the entrance and closed the door behind her, the sounds of her steps down the hallway quickly engulfed by silence once again. Aiyda rose from her place, a few muscles tensing and tightening at the sudden move pulling her limbs out of their laxness, and slowly tiptoed across the room.

“We should get dressed,” she muttered behind her shoulders while browsing through the folded pieces Lehna had left for her. Beneath a leather satchel filled with carefully wrapped food, she spotted her old coat, the one Elyse had made for her first Hunt, and felt her stomach tighten at the sight of it. Suddenly, the clothes she donned then felt odd over her form, and she itched to slip out of them and into her old garments.

A part of her wished she could have stayed. When she looked back at Ethon, that desire was apparent in her eyes; they were longing for the scene from only moments before, that had been stolen from her so mercilessly, yet she knew they could not postpone her duties any longer. Her chest ached, and within her, the same fire of dread was now rekindled at the sight of her mother’s coat. “The Lords must be waiting,” she managed, her voice trembling now, and she took it in her arms. “We are leaving at sunrise.”

*

It had not been too much of a fight to get out of bed that morning. Lyram had been an early riser ever since his childhood, yet it had been dreams that had kept him awake. Dark, cursed dreams of the legends he had heard pour from the huntress’s mouth, which now plagued his own mind almost every minute of the day. He had donned his sturdiest attire, rimmed with fur to keep him warm and dry against the snow, and combed his hair carefully for the departure, despite being fully aware that it would budge as soon as the gush of wind from riding hit it.

Standing by his side, Conrad did not seem any less tense, although Lyram knew his unrest was rooted in other reasons than what horrors they would find within the woods. “Hector might as well not show up,” Lyram shrugged nonchalantly. “He does not believe Aiyda Saeberian. Nor does our father. I doubt he will pray for our wellbeing while we’re away.”

He was too exhausted to bother with formalities that morning, although he doubted that his brother or the young Lords by their side cared as much for such a trivial thing. His eye flickered to Lord Celli, then to Tarick, who did not seem remotely phased over their mission. Even there, standing in the hallway before the great doors, Lyram was slightly trembling beneath his clothes, which he assumed was more from the languor caused by his lack of sleep than the cold.

Before Conrad could spit another word from his mouth, his brother turned to him and bent to whisper, quietly enough so only he heard his words. “No matter how desperate you wish to assert your masculinity, brother,” he said, “keep your mouth shut and your hands by your sides this couple of days.” The look in his eyes was sullen, heavy with a subdued resentment. “I don’t want to think how the poor girl will react to seeing...”

He did not complete his sentence, but it was clear what he was trying to imply. “Besides,” he added almost derisively, “I doubt Ethon will let you get close to her by now.” A vicious triangle, it was - Arah was smitten with the boy, and he did not seem to care for anyone else but the huntress. He could not tell whether it was love or mere respect, although he could not recall the last time Ethon had been so close to someone aside from Conrad, and even they had had their many moments of arguing or falling apart. Men were men. Boys, alike. But Ethon still managed to baffle him.
 
Ethon tried to offer a gentle smile at her comment on the Lords, his eyes moving over her features easily. It was odd to him, he’d never had such desire to study a woman’s face. And really the rest of her. Women were always excellent to look at, to listen to as well. But with her he wanted more than to just look and listen, there wouldn’t be another like her and to speak like her and he was sure of that.

Ethon stayed in the seat for now, taking large bites of the food and deeper sips of the ale. He was a bit shocked at how little she was eating, he thought about commenting on how she would need food and strength to come. Wasn’t his place though, not right now. She did get through it though, the food, which he was grateful for. He moved into the bed now, beside her, and settled himself into the bed with her.

Her comment made him chuckle slightly, her wish to stay awake, yet every inch of her screamed how she was exhausted. In the silence, he pulled her body to his, his arm wrapping around her middle. He’d never slept with another, he enjoyed the closeness and warmth of her, and her softened skin. He could feel her breathing slowing as he took in the scent of her hair so close to his face, her mutter for him to wake her. A part of him thought of kissing her again, perhaps that would wake her. But she needed sleep, besides, his kiss the other evening seemed unwarranted and inappropriate. He could not kiss her, instead he pressed his mouth a top her head and held her a bit closer as he let himself fall into sleep with her.





The door had not awoken Ethon, it was the jolt of Aiyda that shook him to open his eyes, letting out a deeply groggy breath. The voice did cause Ethon o lift his head some, for it was not his own or Aiyda’s but he recognized as Lehna’s. His head turned to the dark haired girl by the door. She left the clothes and then retreated quickly, and Ethon could tell by Aiyda’s stiffness she was bothered, or it could have just been the day’s journey ahead of them, truthfully he did not know.

When she rose Ethons hand that was around her stayed, loosely, letting his hand graze over the back of her waist as she moved away from him. He did not move from his place, watching her move around the room and look through the small stack of clothes Lehna had left for her. He did not want to dress, he did not wish to leave this room, especially with her in it.

She looked back to him, his gaze meeting hers and his eyes were almost trying to will her to come back to him, to the warm bed, just for a moment. He thought about speaking a wit filled comment, ‘let the lords wait’ or something along those lines, but he could not pull himself to speak any such words. He could hear the tightness in her voice. It was time, and he couldn’t save her now.

He stood slowly, moving to his trunk where he had his clothes. He still did not speak, just turning away from her as he removed his trousers and dressed himself warm for the journey. He picked up a small sack, pushing a few items into the leather bag, and extra shirt, a leather bound book and a few other items. “I’ll go prepare your horse.” He spoke for the first time, his tone still scratchy from the night. As he moved past her, he paused right beside her, his hand moving to touch hers, he wanted to offer some word of comfort, but he could not conjure any words. Instead he stepped forward, pressing a soft, but long kiss to her forehead, just below her hairline. Then he moved from the room, knowing she would come outside when she was ready.

*

Conrad was confident Hector would not show. Why would he? Hector was not an early riser unless he had a clear agenda. And today’s agenda likely did not include seeing them off on what Hector thought was a helpless mission. Conrad did cock his brow at Lyram’s comment about how father did not believe her either. “They will pray. Hunt or not, we are still exposed.” Conrad commented, “Father doesn’t believe her because we are young men and she is a beautiful face.” Conrad spoke ignorantly.

Again Lord Celli decided not to twist Conrad for his lack of knowledge. His statement was rather simple, “Your father knows the stakes. Without concrete proof, a story as wild as a mythical hunt… no matter how much he believes the girl, or Ethon, or even you Lyram. If he is wrong-” Lord Celli was getting at the idea of Victors honor, and trust he had with his people.

Conrad was turned to listen to his eldest brother now, frowning at the content, and really the insult Lyram was hitting him with. Although his brothers comment on Ethon caused enough anger to pulse through Conrad’s veins. “I wouldn’t try anything, I’m not heartless.” He stated back.

As Ethon approached from far down the hall, Conrad looked to his brother, “His intentions are likely just as ill as mine were.” Conrad turned moving outside the doors of the hall and towards the stables.

Ethon approached Lyram and the other two lords, nodding to all of them. “Aidya will be out soon. We should leave as soon as she arrives.” Ethon spoke, moving past the men, now following Conrad’s steps towards the stables.

Lord Celli looked to Lyram now, “Shall I gather your horse as well my Lord?” He asked him, Ethon would likely be bringing the girls horse right up to the gates for her. He could do the same or the eldest Sterling brother if need be.
 
Aiyda did not need more than a glance back to know that Ethon shared her wish to stay in their room. Even if it meant curling up beneath the covers and watching the sun rise, it sounded much more appealing than facing the morning cold. Winter was not forgiving at night; the windows had already turned pale, glazed over with ice and steam, so much that barely any light peeked through. Dark clouds haunted above them, which meant they would not see daylight for quite some time. It only made her wonder if she would lose so much by staying for another turn of the clock or two.

She turned away as Ethon sluggishly rose from his seat. It did not take him long to get dressed, despite his apparent grogginess and soon, she felt him by her side. Her eyes lifted up to meet his, and instead of a momentary goodbye, he offered her a kiss on the forehead, warm and longing, which she found herself leaning into greedily. Tendrils of fire burnt through her veins at his touch and sent her heart racing for a brief second; the touch was far too familiar, but she could not let herself act on the way it made her feel. Instead, she lowered her head as he distanced himself from her and disappeared through the doorway, the air behind him turning cold in his absence.

With a sigh, Aiyda managed to stir herself back to reality and started putting on her clothes for the day. It was a routine she knew all too well, from the hundreds of times she had hunted in the winter with her father. Summers were not particularly warm either, but ice dug deeper than wind. In that moment, despite the fire dancing playfully in the hearth behind her, the chamber felt empty and frozen, the only sign of the two of them having slept together being the ruffled sheets and garments scattered around the rim of the bed.

As soon as she was done, she made sure that her change and necessities were tightly tucked in her leather bag before folding the flap over and clasping it securely over the middle. All was done rather hastily, the thought of seeing Krull again now rattling loudly in her mind. She wondered if the horse had adapted to what it had seen, or if it would not oppose riding back into the forest. She had seen the terror in its eyes the day they had arrived at White Hall – only then had she bothered to look, and guilt still tightened her heart at the thought of it.

And yet, in spite of that, it had done its duty of carrying her to safety. “You chose a good steed, father,” Aiyda murmured to herself, and pulling the bag over her shoulder, followed Ethon’s trail through the doorway.

*

“Is that why you believed her when she first came to us?” Lyram replied to his brother bitterly. He knew that neither of his brothers had given the girl any attention at first, when she had presented to them disheveled and dirtied. At that time, her claims had seemed unfathomable and ridiculous, and the mere mention of bringing such issue before their father had sounded like an insult to them. “It is good that we could see past her appearance.”

Lyram thought he was fond of Lord Celli; a voice of reason was not often found within White Hall in the absence of Lord Sterling. Despite Conrad’s interruption, which he politely ignored, he offered the man a nod of acknowledgement. “There is not much proof of such myths. Not recent, either way. Centuries ago, it would have been a much more serious matter. However we cannot deny that the circumstances were, indeed, odd.” It was a more formal way of saying that things did not add up. The Hunters of Northcross were renowned for their skill in battle, not only for bringing down beasts of the forest. It likely took more than a band of rogue thieves to cut them down.

Another pair of steps echoed through the silence in the hall, hasty and heavy, which undoubtedly announced Ethon’s arrival. Lyram’s jaw tightened at Conrad’s remark, but offered no reply to kindle the fire. He knew then where Ethon had been, and deep in his mind, it bothered him. “Good,” he said to the man instead, and offered the two Lords present a dry smile. “The sun is just rising. We should arrive there by this time tomorrow. Tonight, if we are lucky.”

Soon, another joined them, and before he could answer Lord Celli, Lyram’s gaze gladly found the bush of red hair glowing in the darkness of the corridor adjacent to the hall. It lowered to graze over her attire, now lacking the dirt and grime from the day she had arrived – a carefully crafted coat with strokes of fur cut into vertical patterns, laced boots and steady leather gloves, cut at the tips to accommodate a bow. She held carried nothing but a leather bag, no weapon upon her back, which she likely found strange dressed for hunting as she was. Lyram gave her a comforting smile and gestured for her to join them. “A good day,” he bid, more as a reassurance than a salute.

It did not seem to do much, for the girl did not return the simper; she seemed stiff at the sight of them, her gaze flickering around the room momentarily before she forced it back on Lyram. “Shall we go?” the girl asked. It was clear to him then that she was seeking Ethon.

“If you are ready, Aiyda,” he replied, and lead the way through the tall doors and outside on of the keep. As they cracked open, brisk wind wrapped around them, slowly digging through the nooks and crevices of their clothes; the sky was still dark, only tinted by a slight pale crimson in the East, but enough to light up their way through the paved alley, around the castle walls and to the stables. The convoy followed, their boots grinding audibly against the frozen snow.

Lyram watched his steps, careful not to slip on the hoar beneath the white blanket; the way down to the stables was not long, but slightly inclined, a small challenge in the morning when the frigid wind maintained the ice. Thankfully for them, Conrad and Ethon cut their route short as they popped from around the corner, holding on the reins of their horses behind them. The mounts’ backs were warmed with covers carefully folded beneath the saddles; Krull, the spotted steed pulled by Ethon, had a grey scarf over the base of its nape, which he assumed belonged to the girl.

At the sight of it, Aiyda’s gaze softened, and she let out a breath that visibly lowered her chest through the thick coat. She drew closer, her knees stiff in an attempt to balance herself on the ice, but relaxed slightly when her arms came to wrap around the Krull’s neck. She nested her eyes in its mane, her breath stirring the horse’s braids, before walking around its side and mounting it with an ample jump and reach. She lowered her head to look to Ethon, to quietly thank him; she knew he had been the one to tend to Krull during her stay. There was still a certain longing in her gaze, remainder of the night they had spent sleeping together like two cubs in the cold. She could read it in his own, but was content with him being by her side once again, after the few moments of unbearable separation.
 
The stables were still dark when they arrived and so when they entered the wooden encapsle, the horses perked up, alert and he noted the first horse, Conrad’s, snorted with flared nostrils and wide eyes. Ethon rolled his eyes, he thought Conrad’s stallion just as pompous as Conrad was, always held his neck high and was always the first horse to move towards any noise when they went hunting. Ethon pet his snout easily, he’d grown with these horses, knew them just as well, if not better than the Sterling boys. “‘C’mon, shhh.” He whispered as Conrad followed him inside, holding a couple saddles.

He and Ethon got Conrad, Lyrams and the two lords joining them horses all set up and ready. “You go a head, I’ll handle hers.” He said to Conrad. He’d been tending to Krull over the past few days, the horse had been spooked, clearly, but was strong willed, and clearly had seen a lot. It took him a bit of time to get the horse to eat the first day, but he stayed with him until he did. His hand came to the horse, Krull’s snort seemed to rumble deep in his throat before he let out a hot breath of air when Ethon’s hand came to his neck. “Good boy.” he spoke. He moved into the stable with the horse, listening to the hooves gently smack the dirt as the horse grew restless. Ethon swung the saddle sack over Krull, and began to tie beneath the horse, breaking and petting him every so often, letting out small coos of encouragement. Once Krull was set, he got his own horse together very quickly and began leading them from the stable.

The group watched as the girl was reunited with her horse, a loving notion that brought a smile to Ethon’s face. This horse was just as much her family as all the royal horses he took care of were to him. He enjoyed the moment, but knew it wasn’t entirely happy either. SHe mounted her horse easily, and with that Conrad now did the same. Ethon watched as the others mounted now too, and finally Ethon lifted himself onto his steed. His eyes came to Aiyda’s, his smile no longer present, but hsi eyes seemed to speak enough for the pair of them, he was glad they were back in one another’s sight again.

Conrad took up the front, “Suppose we will just head towards the spot we found you. Go from there?” Conrad spoke the plan, simple. COnrad led the pack towards the woods, Ethon watched as Conrad’s horse began for the treeline, his own horse was ready for another journey after the excitment of the last. His chestnut coat as fluid as water, and his horse stockier than the others, his horse was quick. The snow was no match for their hooves as the beings began trotting off. All of the horses heads were extended, ears backed slightly, and the puffs of moisture escaping their nostrils relayed to them all in the cool hair.

Ethon looked to Aiyda beside him, and then to her horse. Krull was a sleek beauty, built well and clearly for stamina. The muscles that rolled beneath the steeds supple coat was majestic and impressive. The horses mane seemed to catch the wind perfectly, and with every step Krull’s feet pounded the ground naturally. For a moment Ethon caught the horses eyes, big and genuine that saw through and with you.

Ethon glanced behind him, Lyram close pulling up the rear, the two lords who had joined them in front of Aiyda and him, but close on Conrad. Ethon glanced now to Aiyda again, “How old is he?” He asked, nodding to her horse. Ethon was quite fond of her horse, he wanted to know a bit more, he’d seen many horses in his years here. Northern ones, foreign steeds, ones from the entirety of Armath. He enjoyed their stories as well as the stories of the people who came with them.
 
Watching the world from above offered Aiyda a certain sense of safety. It was good feeling Krull beneath her again, its heavy breaths rocking her up and down; she could count them in the brisk air like soft, pale clouds as they mingled with the other horses’ and their own. The scene was silent, the only disturbance being the sound of leather boots grinding against snow. It reminded her of the day she had left her village.

Eventually, her gaze broke away from the sight of Krull and Ethon atop his own steed, and she met Conrad’s with slight austerity. “I do not remember the road I took,” she said. “I let Krull lead me until the crack of dawn. Then, I rode South-East.” The sun had offered enough guidance; she had not known the path that the Hunt took each year to reach White Hall; she assumed it would take less time to reach the meadow than when she had fled it.

“North-West, then,” Lyram nodded to the girl. He did not think to chastise her for more information. If the meadow had housed eleven riders and offered enough room for a small battle to unfold, he doubted they had a chance of missing it on their path. “We will ride until nightfall. Unless we reach it by then, we will find a place to eat and rest.”

Aiyda lowered her head in agreement. She did not wish to press him to ride into the night; forests as deep as those were riddled with stray roots and rocks that could result in their horses spraining a joint. She followed close behind Lord Conrad, with Ethon by her side and Lord Lyram behind, with the other horses and their riders. Riding in the middle, she felt pleasantly captive; a childish thought, for if the Wild Hunt jolted from the darkness, a Lord’s sword would barely be enough to delay a blow.

Ethon’s voice startled her slightly. They had been riding for a short time, but daylight was already beginning to slip through the clouds above, yet it was always darker in the woods. “He’s a young steed,” she offered with a slight smile, which faded rather quickly. “I am not sure. Young enough to be this nimble, I suppose.” She gave Krull a pat on the side of its neck and straightened her back. “Mathys was jealous his own was old and rugged. It could barely gallop through the woods.”

Her eyes rose and found Conrad’s nape, oddly stiff, but she was not surprised. He had not come to take her for a walk the other morning, nor had he looked for her in the evening. Lehna would have told her. Ethon stepped on his nerves, despite the love between the two of them; Aiyda could see it, even if she had not truly witnessed it. All men grew frustrated when they did not get what they hunted.

“Do you shoot with a bow, my Lord?” Aiyda asked, louder this time. “I have only heard, but never witnessed your talents. I suppose Lords are taught to wield different weapons from a young age.” She looked back to Lyram, who was fighting to stifle a smirk, then back to Conrad and Ethon. “I would challenge you. Of course, I could not hope to win against someone like you.”

“Humble,” Lyram smiled. “I think all of us know that you are far more skilled with a bow and arrow than any standing here now. Perhaps more than any in the North.”

“Now, yes,” she murmured, and Lyram turned stiff at the realization of what he had said. “Not a title I chose. But my father taught me well, regardless. He could fight well with an axe. I have seen him move before... He was all a blur.”

Lyram bit his lip, thinking about Conrad. He was not one to want to duel a woman, but he doubted he would refuse a challenge extended by a pretty face like hers. “Maybe Ethon would be a better opponent, hm?” His gaze flickered to the boy, and he offered him the same lenient simper. “You are no match for many of the men at court. Dame Aiyda should certainly be a match for you... If you dare.”
 
Ethon was often amused of the power struggle between Lyram and Conrad. Mostly because this would soon be Conrad’s specialty, but he was still not experienced enough. But tonight Ethon held little amusement, Lyram was holding the rear, and Conrad the front, and that was all Ethon cared for regarding them. He just wanted to keep his eye on Aiyda. Conrad trying to prove himself before Lyram was of little concern to him.

As they had been riding, Ethon’s attention was on her as his questions came, interested in the answer she would give. Young, but experienced. A fair horse he thought. He knew the hunt was still relatively new to her as a huntress, she was young as well too. “Old horses are better than one would think.” Ethon defended lightly, a smile pulling on the corner of his lips. “Sort of hate breaking the young wild ones though.” Ethon added, he’d broken multiple horses in his time in the north, it was hard work, and fucking terrible too. But when all was said and done, those horses, the ones he broke and took in trusted him over all.

Conrad listened to them speak of horses, just an average bloke chasing a bird, and nothing else he though. What connection Ethon had other than her sleeping in his bed? When Aiyda’s question came, Conrad glanced back. “Yes, we all shot, although a man of my stature is better to tend on the field with a sword.” Conrad spoke, and Ethon tried to stifle a laugh, knowing Conrad was rejecting, but still attempting to hold his strong-man nature.

Conrad did nod in agreement to Lyram’s statement though. “Certainly better than Lyram, he liked to order about during target practice, rather than practicing.” Conrad laughed.

“Probably cus’ he got four years of practice on you.” Ethon said, smirking some, and Conrad glared back at him.

“I could knock you from that horse in one blow greenie.” He informed him.

But Lyram’s comment caused everyone to perk in a bit. Ethon was good with a bow, he assumed he wasn’t close to Aiyda though, she was a hunter and other than his given practices, he only shot when he could, which really wasn’t often with the other chores he had about the stables. Ethon was more shocked at the play Lyram was teasing at, “I’ll have a go.” Ethon shrugged, “Good way to catch dinner, yeah? Unless you have a better target on you?” Ethon asked Lyram. “Maybe we could have Conrad ride up, whoever nics closest to him wins.” Ethon teased and Conrad finally let his glare lighten.

Conrad shook his head, “You two can have a shoot out when we return, after the King and that cocky Prince leave.” He spoke causing Lord Celli to let out a slight chuckle, anyone could tell that the Prince was fully into himself.

The sun was well beyond the trees, but the evening sky still a glow in the moment, not fully set yet. “We should set camp.” Ethon said, a suggestion, but he didn’t think anyone would argue. “Best to see the scene tomorrow in the light anyway.” He added, his eye catching towards Aiyda, now wondering if for her sake the night might be better.

Conrad nodded and they dismounted the horses, Conrad pulling the tent gear for them, him and the Lords setting the small tents as Ethon took the horses with Aiyda towards a larger tree so he could tie them all close by. Ethon’s gaze now looked to Aiyda’s as she pulled Krull. He thought about asking her if she needed him to sleep beside her tonight, but the question seemed inappropriate given the other Lords present. Ethon glanced back to the others, all pitching tents, and he let his free hand graze hers a moment, the touch not as intimate as he had hoped due to their gloves, “You’ll be alright?” He asked quietly to her, he knew this wasn’t easy for her, especially so close to the occurrence and camping out again.
 
Aiyda’s attempt at lightening the mood seemed to chip away at Conrad’s frown, even for a moment as he exchanged teases with Ethon. She could tell that the young lord was wayward, ruthless in battle and willing to prove himself, but the gravity of the situation kept him from breaking character for the time being. And, frankly, she was relieved, for the soreness of exhaustion still resided in her muscles. As good an archer as she was, making use of a bow she was unfamiliar with would certainly not help her cause.

It only struck her then that her bow - the one Jasper had given her - might have remained buried in the snow in the meadow. She would have to seek it from among the dead, but the hope of finding it filled her chest with solace once again. It was, at the very least, something positive to look forward to finding the following day.

The day passed far too slowly, and with the trees shrouding them from the winter sun’s reach, the blades of cold dug even deeper through their clothes. By the time the sky darkened before the fall of dusk, Aiyda cold feel her hips pulsating and sore with every move or shift atop her horse. Even Krull had grown tired, huffing and puffing each time she pulled on its rains or lightly tapped her heel against its ribs to urge it to move faster.

She was thankful when Ethon called for a stop in their tracks. Despite nightfall not having taken over the woods, it had become almost impossible to avoid the heaps and hollows of the forest floor. Lyram was the last to dismount, watching over the others with a calculated politeness, before jumping off of his mare as well. He hit the ground with a muffled thump and his feet dug quite deep in the layer of snow, well above his ankles. “We will ride again in the morning,” he spoke as he pulled the blanket from over his horse’s back and adjusted the saddle in place. Aiyda knew the statement was directed at her, but the others had seemed just as eager to return home. Sleeping in bedrolls was not particularly comfortable.

She offered the Lord a smile and turned to follow Ethon towards the closest tree where they could tie their horses. They had found a small opening, but roomy enough for all of them to lie comfortably on the ground around a proper fire. Frankly, Aiyda was relieved by the mandatory closeness; it meant that she would not be spending the night completely on her lonesome.

So close to Ethon again, it was a battle to keep herself from hurtling into his arms. For one reason or another, needed warmth with neither blankets nor fire could provide. What she had felt the night before was still vivid in her mind, almost intoxicating, and despite the Lords and escorts in their vicinity, she knew she would not stand closing her eyes in same forest where she knew her father and his comrads lay lifeless.

“Most likely,” she offered him a smile to his question. His touch was comforting, even through the leather gloves. She grabbed his hand tighter and pulled him just a bit closer, more firmly. “Stay,” she almost ordered him. “I will make room for you.” She could only hope he would not be abashed to draw closer to her in the night, even with Conrad’s glare burning into him.

She was hesitant about letting go of his hand, but eventually straightened her back and forced some sternness back into her mind. With a quick pull, she yanked the blanket from beneath Krull’s saddle and put the bag of goods over her shoulder. “Whatever happens tomorrow... Whatever we are to see, I want to be prepared. I have tried imagining it... Painting the scene in my head in the most gruesome way I could, just so I would not be surprised. But I cannot...”

A sigh escaped Aiyda’s lips as she lowered her shoulders. Clenching her fingers into an iron fist, she turned back towards the camp, where a fire had already been kindled with a small piece of tinder. She looked back over her shoulder, seeking Ethon, wanting to know that he was behind her, before laying her blanket down on the ground and taking a seat.

Lyram’s eyes fixated Ethon with interest. For a moment, he seemed almost instigated, but soon relaxed as they fell on the jocund flames. “I think I have started to be dread tomorrow,” he frowned. “Your words shook me when you spoke to Lord Victor. I have to admit a part of me believes you, or wants to believe you.” His eyes moved from Aiyda to the sunkissed man by her side. “But then I look at you, Ethon, and I wonder why you are not afraid. You never doubted her words from the very beginning.”

He turned back to look to Conrad over his shoulder. “And then there’s my dear brother, who...”

“Believed me because I am pretty,” Aiyda interrupted before bitting into a slice of bread with cheese and ham she had pieced together. Her gaze flickered to Conrad. “Forgive me, my Lord. The woods make me speak over my rights and titles. But I know you did not come here because of your concern for the wellbeing of my family and, by extension, Northcross. You have left those worries to the future Lord of White Hall.”
 
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Her smile was not convincing, although his question not entirely clear on what ‘alright’ was either. She took his hand pulling him a bit closer and his eyes looked down to hers more definitively. Her words compelled him, he wanted to pull her even closer to himself and just wrap his arms around her. Smell her hair just beneath his nostrils and forget the others were there.

The question of room in the night came up. He nodded, he would stay beside her, as close as she would allow him for the night. He did not care of the Sterlings glares. Conrad’s would be jealous, but Lyram’s would be different. Ethon was unsure how Lyram would react in such a setting. The circumstances telling him Lyram would think he was taking advantage, and his look would be chastising.

Ethon couldn’t comfort her. What the hell could he say? ‘You’re right, you will be unprepared, no one can prepare themselves for that.’ Yes, that would be reassuring, he thought sarcastically. And so he kept his commentary to himself, since he had none of reason. He only wished to make her feel better, safe wasn’t the word exactly. He did wonder if she felt safe with them, four lords and a stable boy.

Ethon came to follow Aiyda, after a moment of pause, but he laid her blanket beside hers and tried to keep his own gaze from meeting Lyrams. Lyram’s words by the fire were… odd. Ethon could not figure what he was attempting to express. His head lifted to meet the light gaze of Lyram speaking his trust in Aiyda from the beginning, and then Lyram’s gaze upon Conrad, who was looking to the fire, a grimace on his lips.

Aiyda’s words caused both Conrad and Ethon’s gazde to snap to her. Ethon’s lips concealing a smile, while Conrad only frowned deeper upon her words.

“Forgiveness is not needed.” Ethon chuckled slightly now, “You speak the truth.”

Conrad’s gaze turned to Ethon. “You’ve never trusted for a pretty face before?” He asked, clearly struck by their subject.

Ethon did not wish to converse on this matter before Aiyda, Ethon let himself instead speak to Lyram, “It makes sense. A huntress would not…” Ethon did not wish to discuss when he had found her. He took another breath, “I believe her. I told you all this when we found her. I told you, Aiyda, and I have meant it. And I have told it to Lord Sterling.”

Conrad raised a waterskin and took a long sip, “Noble. He believes you. Greenfaces blind trust.” Conrad began. “Your whore mother gave you to our father with a blind trust. My father could have slaughtered you, at any moment,” Conrad stated.

“But he didn’t.” Lord Celli spoke now. “Your father is a just man. Besides… no mother gives away a child without reason. Your father promised a better life. I think Ethon can agree, here is much better than Beggar’s hole.” Celli raised his own waterskin at Ethon. Ethon forced a tight smile and a nod.

Tarick made a low grunt now, “Maybe not here specifically.” He spoke, his tone dead serious. Lord Celli bellowed a laugh now.

Conrad was just as curious about Ethon’s reason here in the North as Ethon was. He often pondered him with questions, rarely he got a rouse from Ethon. But tonight he appeared to be more sensitive than others. Conrad could not pinpoint his friends discomfort. Was it the situation? Was it the girl? Was it simply frustration of not knowing why his mother put this blind trust into Lord Sterling?

Ethon paid little attention to Lord Celli attempting to ask Lyram and Conrad of winter rations, his eyes turning to Aiyda studying the side of her face. In the face of the commotion among the other men, he let his hand come to rest of hers gently on the edge of her blanket. Why did he trust her blindly? Yes he did find her and she was hysterical. But so would any other person be if they were attacked by anything. So why did he know she was right? The only answer he could give himself was that he just knew. A feeling within his gut told him this girl knew, and he believed her. She was right.
 
Conrad’s bitterness did not come as a surprise. Aiyda watched him silently, for the lack of a better argument to his statement. Indeed, perhaps she would not have believed herself either. The legends and myths of the Wild Hunt were long gone from people’s memory, now only bedtime stories for children whose parents did not love them. Tales of old that were meant to frighten, not soothe or bring hope.

And yet, Aiyda saw that hope within Ethon, in the way he looked at her each time she spoke, nodding, taking in every word of hers as truth, never questioning her sanity. It was a breath of fresh air, perhapsba reassurance that she was, indeed, not going mad. That what she had seen could hold at least a fraction of the truth she insisted on.

She felt his hand on hers, and her heart struck her chest like an arrow. For a moment, she was tempted to turn to him, to lean against him for another taste of the warmth he offered with the simple touch, but knew better than to reveal the carefully disguised gesture of affection. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his own, concealed by their hips, and pressed her lips into a faint smile for only a moment, enough for him to see she had acknowledged him.

“Men are strange and filled to the brim with their own egos,” Aiyda observed derisively, and clutched Ethon’s hand tighter between hers. “You seem to be nothing like it... You are a lot like my little brother.” Mathys had always been mellow, but fierce with a weapon if needed. He was still young, but she knew he would grow into a good man. Ethon gave her the same gut feeling, and a part of her wished to remain by his side after everything came to a conclusion, no matter what that was, in the end.

The banter between the Sterling brothers and the other Lords no longer seemed to matter. Even Lyram had detached himself from the scene, now looking into the fire as though he would rather throw himself into the flames than to be forced to endure Conrad’s parlous jealousy. Aiyda’s eyes grazed over his features, her own softening at the sight of his apparent fatigue.


She found it difficult to rest that night. The atmosphere in the woods was far too familiar, and she could not help but jolt and turn stiff at any sound of crackling or rustling in the distance. Even by Ethon’s side, with the flames almost licking her temples, there was not enough warm to help her doze off into slumber. It was only by the crack of dawn that she managed to shut her eyes, when the sky turned a lighter blue and winter birds found their tongues above, in the trees.

In the night, she did not dare to curl up to his side. Instead, she resorted to only being in his vicinity, for she knew that if she got the chance to cling to him, the lords would find them even closer come morning.

When she heard Lyram’s voice echoing in her ears, Aiyda dared to open an eye to the bright snow beneath her covers, and felt as though her short sleep had been for naught. The sun had risen enough to allow for a clear view in the distance, and she assumed it was perhaps only a turn of the clock later than when they had left the previous morning. Northern woods were dense, enough to shroud the forest floor until the sun was high enough to peek through the thick trunks.

“You will lead the way from now on,” Lyram spoke in the wind as he carefully adjusted his horse’s saddle over the blanket beneath. His blue gaze flickered to Aiyda for a moment, then to the lords who were slowly beginning to wake up. “We have never hunted so far East. Only you and your steed would know the path you paved from the meadow to White Hall.”

Aiyda pressed her lips and let out a breath through her nose, that quickly turned into a pale haze in the brisk morning air. She eventually pushed herself up from her nest and started preparing Krull for the road. “We cannot be too far,” she muttered as she moved. The weight of the sleepless night still encumbered her limbs, but she managed to finish before the others got to their own. “I think I know these trees. They get thicker and thicker as your near the very center of the forest... where we spent the night.”

She hopped onto Krull’s back with ease, and pulled her braided hair back behind to let the cool breeze wake her up properly. Her gaze shifted to Ethon, waiting for him to gather himself and come to her side. It would not be a long ride, or at the very least she hoped that her memory was not yet muddled. Lyram took his place behind them, but this time in front of Conrad, and with a light kick of his heels, he urged his horse forward through the dense layer of snow.
 
Ethon felt her fingers around his, squeezing back as if to reassure him. He wanted her closer, he even thought of the night, and that he could perhaps chance it, even for a short while. But he decided against it. If Lyram were to wake to add more sticks, or another log to the fire he would see them.

Aiyda’s comment came with reason, Ethon nodded, opening his mouth to say something, but Conrads voice chimed in before Ethon could speak. “Women have egos as well.” He stated. The other men seemed interested to see where this one was going. “It’s true. They are passive, cluttered in groups about it usually. To be apart of the best social circle, and climb themselves within their circle.” Conrad pushed.

Ethon shrugged, “Maybe, I dunno. Do you remember when Hector said men gossip more than women?” Ethon asked them all. Hector often did not pinpoint people, but one dinner many nights ago, long before Aiyda and the King’s arrival, Hector made a point to them all that stuck with Ethon. Men gossip more than women. “He said women only gossip within their social circle. They won’t speak ill outside the circle usually, they won’t let on much knowledge outside of it. Yet men do all the time, especially when another man is in the wrong. Like they are proving themselves over the other.” Ethon stated, roughly repeating Hector’s words.

Ethon wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the words himself. He did seem to have more female confidants in the kitchen whom were women. Lehna being one of them, and the head cook. When he needed to speak of personal issues, he went to them, although not too often. But with his life he would trust Lyram or Conrad.

Their conversation began to die down, and Lyram was settling himself in. Ethon now had turned back, getting himself ready to settle down. But as he laid down, the fire still burning strong, providing little warmth, but getting smaller as the night went. He found himself awake. He wished to pull her closer, she was so close, but they weren’t touching, and even holding her hand throughout the night was too much of a movement if one of he other Lords were to spy them.

Ethon kept his eyes on the sky throughout the night, watching as the blackness turned a deep purple before lifting to a lightened blue color, marking the days began. He stayed laying down as Lyram had stirred, gathering his horse, and he heard him as he began speaking to Aiyda about how she will lead.

Ethon lifted himself now, gathering his things, the others doing the same and preparing their horses. He could not figure Lyram’s tone, was he nervous? He was always nervous, but more than before? He could not tell. These woods were unfamiliar, and their horses were tired and cold from the day’s journey and the night.

He mounted his horse and moved forward with the others, following beside her, just slightly behind now. Lyram close behind them. He trusted her to know if they were in any danger, and he trusted Krull as well. The more they moved, he could see the horse tense slightly, they must’ve been close, even if the horse did not truly remember, his body did. Ethon tried to detect a change in the air, but nothing came. The old stories of the Hunt always depicted a change in the air when the Hunt was close. But they weren’t looking for the Wild Hunt itself, just the carnage. Not so reassuring.

Conrad pressed his horse forward, Lyram moving before him causing a jerk in Conrad’s wrist so his horse did not step forward. His gaze moving forth, noting Ethon's place beside the girl, before Lyram. Lyram should have been the one beside the girl, not Ethon. And Ethon should be behind Conrad, Ethon should have been behind the other Lords as well. He tilted his neck, cracking the bone in his shoulder as he ignored the feelings. Ethon was a decent lad, did his duties, helpd his own. Fought well for a greenie.

He was still unsettled though. There was something about the draw between Ethon and this girl. Why were they drawn so close? So fast? The lack of satisfaction he felt when he stole Arah away from Ethon. Ethon had spent the night with Aiyda, and Ethon’s attentiveness to the girl was maddening. The way he watched her, if Conrad didn’t know Ethon he might have tried to convince the girl that it was creepy, only it wasn’t.
 
The woods appeared almost sinister in the dim morning light. Having the ear of a hunter, she could hear light rustling of leaves in the distance, birds flapping their wings away from danger or small animals dashing from one bush to another. The green crown of trees stretching high above them offered some shelter from the fresh snow falling down, but every now and then, Aiyda could still feel a frozen droplet melt against the heat of her cheeks.

She was unsure of their path for a long time, the only hint that they were going the right way being Krull stiffness. She could feel its muscles tense beneath her, and feel it in the way it moved, like the saddle pained it. Only it didn’t, she had made sure of it with the placement of the soft blanket beneath the leather.

Soon, as the sun rose well above the ground, the trees began looking more and more familiar. They thickened and bent in strange ways, or ascended so high they almost seemed to fade into the clouds. The morning breeze turned into a brisk wind, one that cut through the layers of fabric and fur and bit their flesh to the bone. It was not a cold that Aiyda recalled as something usual, but rather, as the echo of a memory which kept returning to her mind, plaguing her, urging her to take any sign and turn it into a symbol.

“We are getting close,” Lyram spoke from behind her. Aiyda did not nod, nor did she turn to him; she felt as though if she moved, she would break her poise, and she could not afford to seem weak and disturbed before the Lords of the North. She instead resorted to tapping Krull’s ribs and urging it further through the hollows and slopes of now unwelcoming the forest floor.

The meadow was brighter than she remembered.

It stretched over several yards of uncovered earth; there, the snow was much thicker and taller, as the trees only shielded its sides. An eerie tremor washed over her at the emptiness: there were no bodies lying frozen in the snow, no sign of life, of steps or shapes carved into the ice. Instead, weapons lay beneath a light layer of snow, surrounding corners of bedrolls peeking from beneath. The fire in the middle had long died out, and the charred remainders of the woods that had burnt that night only lightly tainted the untouched purity of the snow.

As Aiyda encouraged her horse to move forward, the pines she brushed past shook and shed their needles. She looked up at the dead trees, barely holding on to the faded green hues. They appeared to mourn, even in the summit of winter, a sight almost as strange as the one on the ground.

Lyram remained hidden in the shadows, before the threshold leading into the meadow. He watched Aiyda attentively, almost waiting for her to break into tears, but she did not. The girl descended from her horse easily, as though floating before her feet disappeared into the blanket of snow. “There are no bodies,” he muttered, quietly enough for the sound to only reach the other men. Their only promise that they were in the right place was the sign of life left behind by the hunters.

Then, his iced gaze flickered to a dark stain in the snow, and he felt his gut twist at the gruesome sight. No bodies had been left behind, but their blood, now old and dried, but still peeking through the ice. He wavered between calling out to Aiyda or keeping his silence, before she turned around and froze before the same sight herself.

Buried in the middle of the meadow, the Northcross huntress seemed just as pale as winter itself.

“Do you believe me now?” a harrowing murmur reverberated through the silence, and Lyram had to hold his breath in to face her. Pressing his lips, he lowered his head and waited, almost obediently before her. No other question came, nothing to scourge his insides anymore, but the silence then felt louder than words.

He turned to Ethon ever so slightly, his walls now lowered, but his gaze just as piercing as before. ‘Leave her,’ he almost wanted to say. After what he had witnessed, he knew that the boy would likely pine to offer comfort. Not then. She needed to look around for herself, see for herself. If the Wild Hunt had truly been there, just as vivid as the death floating in the air, then he doubted a few soldiers would be of much help to defend the North from its wrath.
 
The group followed her in silence. Something had changed since the previous day, maybe the thoughts of what they could be walking into were setting in. Maybe something else. Aiyda did not glance to Ethon during their ride following her like she had the previous day. And her horse was clearly spooked.

Lyram’s voice broke the silence, but did little to comfort or assure anyone. Aiyda barely moved at Lyram’s words and now Ethon glanced to Lyram, seeing if his nerves were similar.

The meadow was bright, well developed broken area in the thick of the wood. Ethon stayed with the other men at the meadow line. Ethon’s horse out just slightly further than the rest, and like the other men, his eyes were watching Aiyda as she dismounted Krull and looked around the snow.

Conrad’s jaw was tense, the scene before him…. Lyram spoke of the bodies, and it was horrid. The blood stains. Some spattered, some literal puddle stains. Whatever it was, it was brutal. And no bodies made no sense. Not one piece of carnage.

The question flowed into the silence, and Lyram’s gaze reached Ethon as he was dismounting his own horse. But he was not on his way to comfort Aiyda. A chill had reached into his own gut at the scene. He hadn’t thought many questions about the Hunt. He didn’t know why, because he did believe her, but in these few days prior he was occupied with questions about her. Now he was walking about the perimeter, looking for any signs that could offer any explanation.

Why now? He wanted to know. There had been no other attacks like this, and so far south from the Great North beyond, and no stories. What did this mean? And what exactly was the Hunt, all they had before was stories. And all stories varied slightly from teller to teller.

He stopped about a quarter around the perimeter, surveying the scene very slightly, this was the only marking of blood near the perimeter, the rest seemed to be more center of the circle. He brushed away some of the more fresh snow, trying to get a better look at the blood beneath it. It appeared at though this stain of blood was intentional. Like someone had taken blood, marking it here, unlike the others. He stood quickly again, as the marking looked familiar to him. Ethon glanced up, the others eyes were all still on Aiyda. Good. He didn’t want to worry anyone.

He commited the marking to memory, it’s shape was easy enough to replicate, and he would ask the only person he knew who spent the entirety of his childhood with his face in the books of their great Northern library. Ethon did not exactly trust Hector, but he knew if anyone would know what it could mean, it would be him. He kicked some snow back over the marking.

His memory moving back with him, to the first time he heard about the Wild Hunt. An old beggar woman used to come by the White Hall kitchen. Him and Conrad were still young enough to be fascinated with the older woman at the time. Her ragged clothes and imaginative stories. She wore an extensive number of necklaces and clothing items and plagued their minds with folklore. She had spoken to them with a toothy grin as she spoke of the hunt, her fingers toying with a wooden coin around one of her necklaces. A burned meladian, and the marking on that necklace was the same marking he had just seen in the snow.

Ethon, who had been lost in his thoughts, jumped a bit when Conrad’s hand came to his shoulder. “You alright?” Conrad asked.

“Yes.” Ethon spoke quickly. His eyes shooting back to Aiyda, seeing if she was alright now.

“Come on, we should go see what Lyram wants us to do.” Conrad spoke in an uneasy tone.

Conrad was worried. He did believe the girl now. But what was to be done about the scene? Touching the dead’s things? Conrad did not want to touch any of the weapons or campsite materials. He wanted to leave. The pair of them moved back towards Lyram and the other do Lords. “What now brother?” Conrad asked.

But it was Lord Celli who spoke now, “A moment of silence and prayers. For the Hunters of Northcross. Valiant and Great. We shall not let them be forgotten.”
 
Even the forest seemed to be weeping for the dead that still haunted the bloodied meadow. Aiyda could hear it in the wind, and the quiet murmur only made it harder for her to hold the tears in. She had seen the expressions of pure horror etched on the Lords’ faces, but those had been nothing compared to what she truly felt, hidden beneath her carefully painted composure. Despite the light of the sun, the day seemed to be getting darker and darker.

Snowflakes melted on her heated cheeks as she paced through the opening, from one frozen pool of blood to the other. Over the days spent hunting with Jasper’s men, she had memorized the details of their weapons, one more intricate than the other. She recognized the intricately sculpted hilt of Uther’s axe and the scratched blade topping one of Floren’s arrows. Then, her eye flickered to an ochre curve peeking through the layer of snow, a bow missing the string once attached to its groove.

It was godless to meddle with the belongings of the dead in the North, but as far as Aiyda was concerned, she was very much alive. Upon touching the narrow piece of wood, a wave of relief washed over her, and she felt the lump clenching in her throat now tighten even more. I took a good pull to yank it out of the ice, and once it was out, the string quickly followed, dangling like a limp limb from the lower groove. Frozen snow had clustered inbetween the crevices of the carved birds, but the image was still very much readable, and perhaps for a moment, Aiyda felt as though she had never left Northcross.

With the bow gripped between her fingers, Aiyda turned to the men behind her, her eyes almost seeking Ethon subconsciously. She did not want to spend another moment there, not after finding a fragment of solace in the ruins. There were no bodies to burn, but only souls to mourn over, and she had already done her mourning. In the dark eyes hiding beneath her brows sparked a sickened sadness even she did not know how to hide any longer. It did not matter if the Lords of White Hall saw her then, for they could not deem her mad any longer, without speaking so of themselves.

For another moment, Lyram did not say another word. His own gaze remained on Aiyda, waiting for her to come crashing down every second then. He looked to Ethon, waiting for him to inch towards her like he had during her hearing. The scene was as sinister as it was eerie, as though it did not belong to the realm of men, or that of the living. He felt like a trespasser in the meadow, and could see that their horses sensed the same unrest.

It was only as Aiyda began pacing back towards them that he found the courage to move. It was clear to him that she was ready to go, but the lack of words worried him. He glanced over to Ethon as though asking him for help, and gestured towards the girl struggling to throw the bow over her shoulder with trembling hands. Krull whined as she drew closer, as if scared of the air around her, but Aiyda ignored it and threw herself on its back. She was looking down, anywhere but to the meadow stained crimson, and Lyram knew that something had been stirred within her.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked, just to make sure, but no answer came. Aiyda stood still atop of Krull and fiddled with the string crossing her torso. He looked over to the others and nodded, then paced over to his own horse. “We will ride back for a few miles and rest at dusk. We may say our prayers and regrets on the way home.”

For frankly, a part of him worried that the Wild Hunt was still haunting the Northern woods.
 
Their ride back was quiet, this time Lyram lead the way. Ethon still rode beside Aiyda, although his mind was plagued with other thoughts. The marking in the snow. He had to remember. He should have brought a journal or something. He was sure Hector would know what the marking meant. He had to right? He spent their entire childhood not listening to the local folklore, but reading it, studying it all. Finding the underlying meanings behind everything. He was always on his way to being Lyram’s informant. Having any question Lyram could ever think of when they were older answered.

Conrad watched the scene carefully, Ethon was mute, of course the girl was, she just saw the aftermath of all her people having been slaughtered by whatever it was. The sight brutal, and Ethon offering little to comfort her, in his own thoughts. Conrad pushed his horse forward, glancing to the girl as the sky was growing darker, their horses seemed to be moving faster than before. “That is an excellent bow.” He commented, his tone loud.

The youngest Lord was never one to comfort much, but he knew how to drive a conversation in midst of distraction. “Hand crafted, I can tell it’s use.” He said pointing to the slight soft wear in the wood where it is held by the hand. “Clearly a weapon that has served you well.” He spoke. Now realizing maybe it didn’t serve her so well in this case, this time.

He paused another moment. “Archery was never my strong suit. I’m not the quickest. Quick enough, but you know..” He shrugged some.

Ethon was now looking to Conrad, wondering what the hell he was getting at, talking to her about weapons after the scene they just saw. Probably one of the few things Conrad could talk to someone about whom he didn’t know. At least the one thing he could speak about in a non-flirtatious way.

The light haired boys eyes moved to Aiyda now, seeing the look upon her face now. The tragedy and the terror, he had been occupied and distracted. He kicked his horse forth now, cutting Conrad off, and moving his horse close beside Krull. He was unsure what words to offer her either, but he felt being close was better than weapons talk. “If we move a bit faster we might be able to make it just after nightfall.” Ethon suggested, calling up to Lyram. He didn’t think anyone should be in these woods a moment longer especially her.
 
Lyram was growing impatient with the silence. He could not see Aiyda from his position of leading the line, but he could tell only from the languished movement of her horse that she was empty. He had not eaten that morning, but he did not think it was hunger that twisted his gut then. What he had seen in the meadow would hunt his nightnares for nights on end, he knew.

The sound of Conrad’s voice sent needles through Lyram’s ears after the long silence he had had to endure. The lord turned to glance back over his shoulder, and saw that he had, indeed, addressed the girl. It was only then that he saw Aiyda up close, and the utter pallor of her face was downright harrowing. Her eyes were fixated on a point before her, close to her horse’s hooves, and she barely did more than to adjust herself on her saddle as she rode.

As strange and abrupt as his brother’s intervention had been, Lyram was touched by his naïve attempt at easing some of the tension. He had never truly known such pain - neither of them had - and he could not possibly come to understand. Even Lyram struggled to read her, all whilst trying to avoid the wave of dread and panic that awaited each of them menacingly. He could see the way Ethon looked at her, as though ready to jump to catch her if she grew weak and loosened her grip around the reins.

The battle was as heartwarming as it was shattering. Aiyda could not breathe well, nor could she find the strength within herself to speak again without bursting into tears. She was surprised the lump in her throat had eased enough to let her speak in the meadow. Once again, she had returned to the state Ethon had found her in. The bow over her shoulder was growing heavier and heavier.

“If we ride in the darkness we risk a sprained joint or two,” Lyram stated softly, to fill the silence following Conrad’s storm of questions. “Good horses, bad weather. We would freeze before reaching White Hall.” A part of him, however, was willing to take the risk. They were all desperate to put some serious yards between them and the woods for a while.

Aiyda’s eyes lifted to him. Krull was a strong steed, able to sustain plenty of effort, but the look in her eye told him she might not. “We ride to White Hall tonight,” the girl managed. She lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around the bow string. She did not have any arrows, but feeling it pressed to her back did more to offer a sense of safety than any pointy end would.

“It took us a day and a half to reach the meadow, Aiyda,” Lyram spoke. “You know these woods better than any of us. We cannot-“

“We will,” she interrupted, and her voice broke slightly at the last word. Lyram pressed his lips together and looked over to Ethon. He let out a sigh, then bent to pat the leather bag hanging from his horse’s saddle.

“Perhaps some food would be in order then. To lift our spirits. If we are to make it to White Hall whole, that is.” He offered a faint smile that quickly faded as he reached into his own bag for a piece of jerky, almost urging the others to encourage Aiyda to do the same. His horse was slowly picking up the speed at his call, and food was the last thing he wished to feel jolting and twisting in his already coiled stomach then, but after Conrad’s attempts at kindling a conversation had failed, his only attempt was at making her regain some warmth in her cheeks.

Aiyda did not move from her position, nor did she refuse the Lord’s offer. Instead, she lightly tapped her heels against Krull’s sides and urged it slightly forward, right behind Lyram’s. “It is a good bow, Lord Conrad,” she decided to answer after a little while, her eyes still on the icy ground. “Too bad it was of no use saving my father and his men from a godless carnage.”
 
Lyram’s protest was quickly shut down at Aiyda’s words. Conrads head lifted, almost shocked at his brothers inability to sway the girl with simple command. Lyram had rank over everyone, especially the girl, and he knelt so easily to her. It was a good thing Hector wasn’t here to see Lyram’s actions, or he’d never hear the end of it.

Ethon took out his own piece of jerky and lifted it to Lyram like a cheers as Aiyda seemed to be making decisions for now. Ethon was grateful for that, as he didn’t want to be in the woods any longer.

As Lyram began to make speed, Ethon offered Aiyda a piece of his own jerky, “You should eat… or least least humor us with a bite or two.” Ethon spoke to her in a low tone. He wanted to reach out for her hand again, hold it, but it wouldn’t be worth it during the ride. “We’ll be back soon. Come on.” He said kicking his horse after hers.

The night sky grew black as the night drew on, Conrad held up the flanks spying for the fire torches of the outer walls of White Hall. Ethon rode close to Aiyda, and Conrad was aware of the fact the pair would likely be sharing a chamber again tonight. They drew on closer, the sound of wolves howling in the night weren’t too far off. Thankfully the fire light in the towers of the outer walls appeared.

They dismounted their horses, Ethon taking the reigns of each horse, preparing to lead them to the stables with the neighboring Lords. He paused before taking Krull from Aiyda, his hand squeezing hers a moment before he took the reigns, letting her know she could choose his chambers tonight if she wished, but he did not wish to intrude if she wanted to be alone.

As Ethon was leaving with the horses, Conrad moved into the castle walls with Aiyda and Lyram. Conrad felt rude discussing further plans to debrief with their father in front of the girl. “Well, would anyone like some ale?” He asked the pair of them. “I could… I know the kitchens keep the late brew up. And with the King and Queen here, should be a good brew.” He brought up. He figured with the tense pair before him though, a cup of ale wouldn't be too popular. She didn’t seem to want anything to do with any of them. And Lyram rarely went for a cup of ale except for one with dinner. He didn’t even drink with the broads. Conrad wondered what type of bird Lyram would need to loosen up just a stick bit more.
 
It took far too long for the day to turn into night, and atop Krull’s back, Aiyda could barely hold herself up straight. She had not bothered with food, not even after Ethon’s gladdening offer, and although a part of her heart had ached after her own too cold refusal, she knew that if she ate anything, she might not be able to hold it for the rest of their way down to White Hall.

Lyram had not tired his voice to tell her to eat; after all, she was old enough to make her own decisions, but he could tell that Conrad was not happy he had let her make his own, as well. He had been unable to raise his voice against her or to urge her to spend yet another night in the woods where her father had been slaughtered and, frankly, he doubted they would find their peace until dawn, either. The forest floor did not make for an adequate riding ground, but enduring a little bit of a hitch was better than pulling through a night of dreadfully silent mourning.

As soon as the flames of White Hall pierced through the fog in the distant horizon, Lyram lost some of the tension that had been building up inside of him. The ride had been far too long, and far too silent, even for his own liking. His gaze flickered to Aiyda, then to Ethon still riding by her side like a personal guard, both trembling beneath their furs. Conrad did not look particularly well, either, despite having grown used to the cold over the many years growing up in the North. Regardless, relief was painted on all of them, from top to bottom, and from then on, Lyram decided to take the lead in their line towards the castle.

As they reached the entrance, Lyram’s eyes followed Ethon’s hand clutching Aiyda’s, and he felt his own gut twist at the thought of what could be going through the girl’s mind. He knew that Ethon had offered some solace the night before, in one shape or another, but judging by Aiyda’s reluctance in receiving the gesture, it was clear that she intended to pour her tears alone.

Conrad’s voice was startling as they stepped into the castle, but the offer of ale did not sound too bitter in a moment like that. The halls were silent, long asleep, and he would have assumed they would not be disturbed in their nightly intermission, until a pair of steps rung like an echo through a nearby corridor, and a man wearing dark robes came trotting like a chicken towards the group. The castle’s scholar held a rolled piece of parchment in his hand, and the used the other to gain some balance in his hasty stride.

“My Lords... My Lady...” His hoary gaze washed over them for a moment, before resting on Aiyda with grave attention. “A... boy has come a turn of the clock ago, with rather... disturbing news from Northcross. He said-“

“What was his name?”Aiyda interrupted, her voice faltering, but stern. The man gulped, seemingly baffled by her question, and his eyes flashed from one Lord to the other.

As he parted his lips to speak, another pair of boots broke the painful silence, and from the corner of the hall popped a boy with blond curls at the top of his head and frost-nipped cheeks. The fur on his coat was damp, and his leather trousers were covered in splashes of dried mud from riding. Aiyda froze where she she stood, and so did the boy, his ears slowly caught the same shade of crimson as the rest of his flesh. Letting out a harrowing sigh, Aiyda broke away from Ethon’s side and darted towards him with her arms spread widely to pull him to her chest as soon as they clashed against one another.

Mathys’s hair smelled like pine and winter, but his breath was warm, tepid, gentle against Aiyda’s cheeks. He pulled her tight to him and let her bury her nose in his shoulder for a moment, if only in an attempt to take in whatever hint of home he carried with him still. When he pulled away, she fought to contain the sobbing she had allowed to escape from her lips, and gently brushed away a stray lock from her brother’s temple.

“Mother?” she managed, and Mathys shook his head slightly.

“Father? The others?” he asked back, and Aiyda returned his gesture. He did not falter, and neither did she, for they both had already known the answers to their questions prior to asking. She could see the terror in his eyes, the same terror Ethon had likely seen in hers the day he had collected her from the woods. There was no reason to tell him, for he already knew what he had seen, perhaps better than any of them.

“The darkness in my dreams...” Mathys muttered. “It was real. And it’s coming for us all.”
 
Conrad’s attention was directed towards the man with the scroll. It was late for anyone other than guard to be awake, and a man of this title would not have been waiting up for them to return from their trip. Aiyda cut in almost instantly, which caused Conrad to turn his attention to her now. When the boy stepped in, light haired but still northern features, and young.

The boy must’ve just gotten in before them. He was fresh from the winter air and he appeared shaken to the core. Aiyda rushed for the boy and embraced him. Conrad noted Ethon’s attempt to move forward and he took the southern boys arm, and shook his head short but sharp. “Let them be a moment.” Conrad whispered.

They watched as the two exchanged some words, but it was clear what the boy had seen. “The boy should make an official report to Lord Victor.” Ethon spoke quietly to just Conrad and Lyram. “This is… it’s getting closer. And going after settlements, not just camps…” Ethon whispered, his tone dark.

Conrad rubbed his face, he wondered if he should let Aiyda and this boy have their moments together, he was clearly shaken. But they needed a report, a fresh one. And the boy shouldn’t be left to linger with the information. Conrad nodded to Ethon, “Take the boy, get him a proper report, if he is ready. Get him a room close to Aiyda’s, offer him a wash and some fresh linens as well.” Conrad told him.

Ethon nodded, he thought it was too soon to pry the pair, but he moved forward at his Lord’s command. Conrad looked to Lyram, “You should speak to father, if he is awake. Maybe even Hector, I dunno.. We should take precautions right?” Conrad asked his brother.

Conrad then stepped forward now as Ethon was explaining to the boy where he would be taken, and what he was being offered. Conrad touched Aiyda’s arm gently. “Come on, he needs to settle a moment. Ethon will come for you, once he’s settled, bring you back to him before bed.” Conrad said. Conrad was unsure if she wanted to be separated from her brother any longer, but he thought she deserved a proper cup of ale before conversing any further. And the boy deserves a chance to warm up, eat and collect himself before speaking with Aiyda as well. “I have wine.” Conrad offered up to her.
 
Lyram’s jaw was tense as he watched the endearing exchange unfolding before him. He was well aware of the gravity of the situation, even more now that the boy had come with such somber news of yet another attack, or rather, a continuation of the first. Aiyda’s words rung more and more real in his mind then, and for a moment, he wondered in terror why they had not gotten other reports from settlements.

“It is late now,” Lyram spoke eventually, against Conrad’s orders. “The boy has been travelling for days and nights on end. If the information stayed with him until now, it can wait until morning.” The darkness around his eyes and the pallor of his cheeks were enough to cement the Lord’s decision to wait. He was exhausted, and even his sister had not presented herself before Lord Victor with a muddled mind, more or less.

His gaze turned to Conrad, then to Ethon, ever sullen and stern. “We should all rest tonight, and gather after breaking our fast to address this imminent danger. The Queen and King should not be involved in this for now.” They were their guests, after all, and he knew that their father would not bother the royals’ minds with matters of the North. “The boy will get a bath, new clothes and a good helping of dinner. Give him some wine, too, to warm up his blood.”

Aiyda escaped Mathys’s embrace reluctantly, but offered a reassuring gaze once they were separated. She could feel her heart beating again, although she did not know whether it was joy or fear that pulsated in her ears. “I will see you soon, Mathys,” the girl said softly and gave him a dulcet simper, which was quickly returned, although more weakly on his part, as he let himself be lead away into the darkness of one corridor by Ethon. She knew he would be safe there, from then on.

Her eyes remained lingering on Ethon for a while, until she could no longer make out their shapes as they passed the corner. Conrad’s hand on her arm brought a certain comfort, but not nearly enough of what she had missed. A part of her longed for the night she and Ethon had spent together before departing, even for those few moments she remembered before falling prey to slumber. She knew he had been watching over her ever since, and now, as he was no longer by her side, the world felt colder and more menacing.

“It is not wine that I need,” she said to Conrad as she finally turned around and started walking with him. She heard the sound of boots trotting against the polished stone as the other Lords found their own ways towards their rooms. “I could use a bath, too. Some proper food.” She was still sick in the stomach, but after the momentary trill, some of her senses seemed to have returned to normal.

She walked without uttering a word for a little while, until the silence of the sleeping castle became too loud for her liking. Her heart drummed against her chest like a hammer, and her legs were numb after the heat of the moment. “You believe me now,” she stated to the Lord, and her eyes shot up to him only briefly. He looked much younger in the light of the candles, or perhaps the cold outside had tinted his cheeks florid. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you cared. But I do know that you are more terrified for your life than anything else.”

She had seen the way he had looked at her during their trek through the woods. Or, perhaps it had been Ethon who had peaked his interest. Regardless, there was a fire burning within him which left Aiyda wondering if there truly was something more than self-entitlement driving his actions.
 
Conrad nodded slightly as the pair walked together. “Yes, a bath would be pleasant.” He agreed. He thought about offering her the comfort of his own bath, but decided against it, perhaps the notion would come off as suggestive. Perhaps the notion was a suggestion. “I know where there will be some fresher food. Our cook leaves out a night meal for our maester. He enjoys the occasional midnight snacking, he sleeps odd hours.” Conrad spoke leading her now down a hallway towards the library.

Her next words weren’t so much as a shock to him, many people believed he was more selfish of his brothers. Conrad thought himself in middle. Hector being the most selfish, and Lyram being too selfless. “I do hope you can forgive me… but I do not think I would have fully trusted anyone, no matter how ernest their words were. The cold, dark night has a way of twisting minds.” he informed her, his tone quiet, unusual for himself.

“It is not my life I fear for. The idea that the Hunt is real, and is praying on us is scary, yes.” He told her. He wouldn’t lie, this confirmation of her words was terrifying, and he had to admit that, but he was unsure what it meant for the North and the Entire land of Armath. “I always thought the Hunt was just stories. People wrote about them in the histories, but only Northern histories, and not enough to be confirmed as fact. The Hunt is a prominent folklore, some might say the most prominent folklore. But the vivid nightmares of our childhood are almost never true, and never what they seem.” Conrad spoke, his gaze forward deep in thought. He never thought about the implications of such an occurrence. He was brought up to man the Northern guard, and if war struck, to defend and attack.

“I’ve never had to act on the protection of my home and people before now. I have prepared my entire life for it. It is my duty. But it had always been just that, a preparation and just a thought. And what we saw... “ He looked down. The Wild Hunt had basically swallowed up the entire group of Hunters in one go, and now the region of Northcross. What else have they come across and destroyed?

“There are so many questions and risks to think about now.” He spoke, more confidently now, he was always more confident when creating plans like these to execute. That was part of his lessons, he would be given scenarios and based on the differing information, he would practice how to handle such. “Sending out an expedition group like ours is far too risky. But how else can we learn of the hunt? There have only been two survivors, you and your brother. And setting up a straight defense would be suicide, we do not know where the Hunt is or how big it is. How would we go about rationing resources and time predictions with no information. It is... frustrating.“ he trailed off, unsure what he could call this situation as he led her into one of the maester’s study rooms.

There was a fresh pitcher of wine it seemed on the table, and a candle half burned. The tray at the edge of the study desk still had food on it, some picked at, indicating their maester had eaten some earlier, but left most of the food behind. He poured some wine for himself and took some generous gulps as he offered her the chair at the desk. “No one will know what to do. Not Lyram, who I fear will shut himself in with worry. Father will be looking to us for help on something we know so little about. Hector will kill himself with research, trying to figure it all, meanwhile he is supposed to be tending to the King.” Conrad picked at a piece of bred, but did not eat any. The issue was that no one would agree on a method of approach, he knew they would all have different ideas and different opinions, obviously their father will have final say, but the discussion over what to do… Conrad didn’t know how much time they have, no one does.

*

Ethon brought Mathys into the kitchens and gave him food and an entire pitcher of wine. “I will draw your bath, the room on your left, your sister is staying down the way.” Ethon showed him pointing. “The bath will be ready once you are finished eating, I shall leave clothes on the bed.” Ethon told him.

The boy was young, shaken and Ethon decided to push the food a bit closer to him. “Bring whatever food you’d like to your room as well. Wine or ale also.” He added. Ethon debated staying with the boy, he didn’t know if he wanted to be alone in the moment, but Ethon had a job to do, draw the bath, get him clothes and then he would need to find Hector, show him the symbol he had burned into his mind. All the time Hector spend in the library reading books about nothing didn’t seem so childish to Ethon now. Ethon placed his hand on Mathys shoulder gently before turning to go draw his bath.
 
It was odd to hear Conrad speak like that, even when it came to as matter as somber and grave as the massacre of the Wild Hunt. She had not thought he would believe it in the end, but rather push it as a fabrication of their mind, try to find a logical explanation for the unexplainable. The sight of him then, shaken in the light of the few candles still burning through the night, stirred a new terror within her she could not find a reason for.

The path down to the library was disturbingly dismal, but the continuous sound of his voice reverberating through the silence offered a slight comfort. He knew the twists and turns of White Hall much better than she did, so she did not bother to remember their way, despite not exactly knowing where they were anymore. Wherever Lord Lyram and the other nobles had gone, she could not hear their footsteps any longer. The scene was awfully familiar.

There was much on her tongue by the time they passed through the doors of the library. Conrad’s assumptions and calculations about the close future were bothersome, even to someone who had lived to tell the tale of such horrors, even heavier in the tone that he uttered them. Aiyda took the seat offered on the other side of the desk but did not lean against the backrest, almost fearing to leave a mark of her presence there.

“Myth or truth, the Hunt terrifies us all,” she murmured then, her eyes fixated on the plate with food. “I saw it in your brother’s eyes when we reached the meadow. Like a child seeing death for the first time.” She had seen it from a young age. At the time, she had thought she would never come to see something quite as horrifying or vile. Now, after the hunt, dreams of her childhood were sweet and soothing in the night.

Aiyda’s hand stretched to pick some bread and ham from the edge of the plate for herself. She had grown used to the sickening feeling in her gut; hunger had wiped away some of the fear. Chewing gave her some time to contemplate on Conrad’s words, which were becoming more alarming by the second. Books would offer the information they needed, but not the men nor the resources to protect the realm against a plague like the Wild Hunt, if the legends were unadulterated.

Letting out a soft puff through her nose, Aiyda lifted herself from the hard wood steat and walked around the desk to Conrad’s side. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she forced some of the fire she knew she had within herself out, in a futile attempt to encourage him. “Whatever happens, whenever it happens, I want to fight by your side for the North,” she spoke then, and one hand came to rest on his chest. “I have nothing else to live for but to ensure that what is left of Armath lives in peace. In the memory of my father.”

She doubted neither he nor Ethon would be content with the thought, but she did not wish to leave that world without leaving a mark on the godless, regardless of how they came to do that.

*​

White Hall was cold. It was the first thought that had passed through Mathys’s mind the moment he had entered the castle, and even now, after having taken time to accomodate in the maester’s study, he did not feel any more welcome in the castle than before.

Aiyda was there. It was all he needed to know, and all that had kept him from losing his mind on his way East. The news had hit him like a boulder and still rung in his ears even then. The dreams he had had of the Wild Hunt and the massacre in the Northern woods seemed to have had one positive resolution. The Gods had not abandoned him just yet.

The boy offered the other a small smile as he was brought into the kitchens. For a castle, they were surprisingly small, but more than four times the size of his own back home. Perhaps any other time, he would have been more thrilled with being offered food and wine, especially the latter, but right then, the twist of his gut after seeing Ayda had been enough to fill some of the emptiness in his stomach.

“Thank you,” Mathys eventually found the courage to say. His eyes remained analysing Ethon’s face with a strangely peaked interest. “You are a good man,” he thought to add then, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he watched him leave. He was tempted to ask about his sister, for many words still played on the tip of his tongue, but eventually decided against it and, as Ethon disappeared in the dimly lit corridor, Mathys bent in to pour himself some wine.
 
Hectors jaw was tight and unmoved as the events of earlier that evening played in his mind. He was called to the maester’s chambers instead of his father at the arrival of the boy. His father and mother likely already asleep, and the case’s urgency uncalculated without the confirmed news of his brother’s expedition. His head laid back against the headboard, as a steward tended to him, face down in his lap. An attempt to relieve stress after the young Saebearian boy’s arrival.

Finally Hector let a heavy sigh release from his lips and he shoved the stewards shoulder slightly. “Leave.” He spoke in a stern tone. The steward looked up at him, a bit shocked by the command, glancing to Hector unfinished and Hector’s gaze finally met the stewards, “Get out.” He repeated. The steward left Hector’s bed quickly and a knock came to the door soon after the man had left. Hector pulled on a pair of trousers, opening the door, his body tense, “I told you to-” He began, but stopped at the sight before him. “Ethon.”

“Lord Hector-” Ethon began, his cheeks still pink from the ride earlier that evening, and his tone still desperate from the events.

“Cut the Lord shit.” Hector spoke, done with formalities in the moment. “I shouldn’t be asking you to brief me before I’ve spoken with my brothers, but you are here.” Hector sighed again, this time opening the door more and allowing Ethon to enter his chambers. “Tell me.” Hector spoke.

Hector listened as Ethon spoke the events of their journey. The southern boy mostly stuck to descriptive details about what they actually had found, he did not retell much on the experience regarding the other’s reactions. Hector would hear their debrief tomorrow, and they would all take into account the new information Hector had based on Mathys arrival, and if Mathys wished to speak more, anymore news with that. Ethon knew Hector well to know all he cared for were the facts, not people’s personal reactions.

Ethon ended his story with what he had found on the ground in the snow, telling him about the symbols he saw etched there. He told Hector he didn’t show the others. Hector brought forth a piece of paper and asked Ethon to draw the symbol for him, the primary symbol in the drawing, to inward triangles facing one another was one Hector knew, “This is an ancient rune, it means, dawn, awakening, breakthrough, new day. Usually marks the beginning of something powerful.” Hector told Ethon.

Ethon pointed to the rest of the symbol, a fork like figure, with a circular image at the bottom encapsulated by small lines thought the circle. There was a single line jutted out through the shaft of the fork. “What about this?” Ethon asked him.

Hector shrugged, “This could be anything.” Hector told him, but judging by the way the southern boy kept his eyes on him, he knew Hector was holding back. Hector huffed, “The fork with the circle, it often is speculated to have represented the divine… or demons.” Hectors tone was low now, “But this line, it is odd. There are some runes similar, without the fork portion, one means uncertainty, another means victory, but paired with the fork… I dunno.” Hector shared. “Why didn’t you tell the others?” Hector asked.

Ethon stood looking at the drawing that he had just made, taking in all of the potential meanings. Some of which might not even be correct, but none of the combination bode good news. “How do you think Lyram would react if the symbols for demon, victory and awakening are all paired together?” Ethon asked him.

Hector frowned, “These runes aren’t exact to the books, they are just my personal speculations, I will have to check them, and have them checked by the maester as well.” Hector told Ethon. “We will share this information with Lyram, Conrad and father. Maybe even the girl and her brother.” Hector spoke clearly. “I thank you for this information, and your facts without intense emotion. I will see you tomorrow, when we will discuss this with everyone else.” Hector said leading Ethon to the door, letting him out of his room.

*

Conrad’s eyes stayed on her as she shifted in her seat, he figure standing, and then moving around the desk and approaching him. Her hand came to rest upon his chest, and her words assuring her faith and integrity of the North and her purpose to her people.

His own hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her frame against his. Her frame was sturdy, elegant, but strong held even in such circumstances. The curve of her back articulate, and agile, proving her profession to be in line with her figure, and yet Conrad’s urge was to press her against the wall, move his lips upon hers and make her understand his own frame, just as sturdy and much stronger.

His hand however released it’s hold at her back, and finally came forth removing her own hand from his chest. His eyes did not break contact with hers until he had returned her hand to her own side. “It is late. You must be tired, and I am sure your brother is as well.” Conrad spoke, his tone moving in attempt to be more formal once again. “If you wish to speak to him before bed, you should head back now.” Conrad suggested. He did not trust Aiyda’s intentions though, and what if she did not wish to speak to her brother before bed? He offered his arm again, “Come, I can take you back towards the kitchens. I’ll need another few cups of ale before I take to my bed as well.”
 
A bird’s trill vibrated through the silent morning, brisk and unforgiving following a week of heavy snow.

Aiyda was already awake when Lehna came knocking on the door. She had not slept particularly well the night before, but a hint better than the previous nights. The visit she had paid to Mathys had been enough to reassure her, offer her at least a moment of solace in the turmoil that threatened never to end. She had fallen asleep with his eyes in mind, and woken up thinking of him, like a vivid dream that could not be shaken out of her head.

His silence had been bothersome to her, but she could not let herself be a hypocrite. On her first night at White Hall, she had not been talkative either, and only wine had managed to ease some of her tension, if only briefly, for one evening. As much as she despised it, alcohol seemed to be the solution to forgetting, even if the weight of her thoughts became much heavier afterwards.

“Slept proper?” Lehna spoke in a soft voice. She was gentle in pacing around the room to part the curtains and crack the window open. “We’ve a good breakfast at the ready. The Lords are only now waking up, I think... Hardly. Hardly. Been told they look like they missed two whole nights o’ sleep.”

Aiyda offered the girl a brief smile and crawled to the edge of the bed to slip into her shoes. Her thighs were sore from riding, and tears had dried at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision ever so slightly. “Mathys,” she murmured. “My brother. Has he woken up? How is he?” She was calm, almost languished, and as she stood up, she felt as though her limbs had lost muscle overnight.

“Last time I checked he was sleeping. Turned away from me, couldn’t see him. But he was breathing just fine.”

The joke came with a crackling of laughter, which Aiyda received with a mere simper. ‘Mathys always sleeps with his head facing the door.’ She had come to learn his patterns over the years, and now assumed that he had not truly closed his eyes properly through the night. As tired as he was, the boy rarely found peace in a thick fur blanket and a burning hearth. Not even wine could help a burdened heart.

“Ethon?” she thought to ask then. Lehna canted her head as she laid a freshly dried dress on the bed and let out a puff through her nose.
“Haven’t checked on him. But I suppose Arah did. I’ll ask.”

“No need to ask. Stir him awake if need be. I want to see him before breakfast and the council.” The latter, she spoke with a slight reluctance. She was unsure whether she would be allowed in the council, but even after having told the story to the Lords of White Hall, they could not speak in the name of the true victims and witnesses. She would not allow it. Ethon would not allow it, she knew.

Lehna hesitated for a moment, gave the girl a look of doubt, akin to wondering if she had gone slightly mad, before trotting over to the door and disappearing just as quickly as she had made herself present. Aiyda was left alone once again, only with the dress Lehna had chosen for her that day; her eyes remained lingering on the door for a little while, before deciding it would be best to greet Ethon in something with more coverage, proper for a dame in a council.
 
Ethon pulled on his nicer trousers that morning, wishing it was another winter’s morning instead of this mess. Where he and Conrad would taunt Lyram’s serious breakfast discussion before they took to sporting with swords to pass the morning, and sneaking off to the taverns as soon as the sun went down. He’d have to explain to the others at the council meeting about the symbols or writings or whatever it was he saw. Thankfully he’d have Hector to help him, but the discussion was not something he was looking forward to. Especially with their new guest.

Mathys brought complications. He made the wound in Aiyda more fresh, and the look within his face, the same Aiyda’s held the morning they found her. It brought back strange feelings for him as well. He poured water from a pitcher on his desk and brought it up to his face, rubbing slightly and then pulling his fingers through his hair. His chest tightened as a knock came on the door, it would be too much to think it was her, it was probably Arah or Lehna. He moved to his door pulling it open and he was right, Lehna.

“Aiyda has asked about you.” Lehna spoke, the hints of a smile tugging at her lips. “She would like to see you before breakfast and the council.”

Ethon nodded, “Thank you.” He spoke nodding to her. “Lehna… please, can you just keep an eye on the boy for a little?” He asked her.

Lehna nodded, and then she stepped forward just slightly, “The rumors are really bad Ethon.” She whispered. “People are saying the worst… I know you can’t control that. But I think the quicker you all get a handle on whatever is going on, and let some of us all know… good or bad.”

Ethon understood, people were uneasy, and probably frightened, and they should be. But he supposed for more common folk the fear was not knowing. They didn’t know much either. But even if they did settle all they knew, what could they tell people? He remembered when he would spend time with some of the kitchen hands, as they grew older more lines were drawn between him and the Lords, and he took comfort in the friendships he had here. “I’ll let you know when we know.” He told her.

Once Lehna had left Ethon finished dressing, taking his time, hoping to avoid breakfast. What was the point? They’d all just stare in silence awaiting their briefing of the trip and the arrival of Aiyda’s brother. He rubbed his face again before heading down the end of the hall to Aiyda’s room. Before knocking he glanced to the door where her brother was staying. He straightened his back a moment, and then he knocked on Aiyda’s door.

“It’s me.” He spoke into the door in a softer tone. When the door was opened, his eyes moved over her carefully, the events of the previous night and day were a lot for anyone. He took another breath and then he stepped into her room closing the door behind him. “I’d ask how you are, but, I can’t imagine that’s much help.” He muttered. “Today is going to be rough.”

*

Hector hadn’t slept at all that evening. As soon as Ethon left his room Hector headed straight for the library with Ethon’s drawing. He was up all night looking through books and old journals in attempt to find the exact rune, but there was no luck. He’d found loads similar, all meaning what he speculated last night, but nothing was exact. Maddening.

He was the first one seated at the breakfast table, notes set aside folded up in a journal he had found. The journal was stories about the hunt. All of them before were notes as just tales, scary bedtime stories for the Lords when they were younger and couldn’t sleep. Hector didn’t see too many parallels with what Aiyda had described, but he hadn’t seen the scene. He’d need the others to look over some stories as well.

*

Conrad’s mind was occupied as he made his way to the dining chambers. The previous night had left him confused with more than just the scene the hunt had left them. Aiyda’s actions were likely clouded by the events of yesterday, but the tension between them was something Conrad couldn’t push from his mind. He’d never wanted someone like that, with that much intensity.

He pushed into the dining chambers where only Hector sat, who appeared to look just as tired as the rest of them. “Rough night?” Conrad asked dryly.

“Could ask you the same?” Hector replied just as quick and just as dry. “Hard to believe everyone else is late because they are catching up on sleep.” Hector pointed out.

Conrad made his way to the table, seating himself across from Hector. “How do you think father will take this all?”

Hector’s mind was elsewhere, his gaze on the door, as if waiting for the others to decide his feelings on the subject. “I think we shouldn’t discuss to much until we all have formal statements in our council.”
 
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