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Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

Ox glanced over Aiyda as she gave him some story of the hunters and it all happening before. But what rustled Ox more than his counterparts was the talk of it all. “Ain’t no such thin’ as gods.” He muttered more so to himself than back at her. In the North non believers in the gods were few and far between, but there were a couple scattered about. Always the same argument, always having to do with dying and the way people were killed. “Hunt may be real, but them gods sur’ as hell ain’t.”

Conrad ignored the man, settling into his bedroll by the warm fire. He didn’t give a shit what anyone of these men believed or not. People were dying at alarming rates, he knew it was the Hunt, but in any case it wouldn’t have mattered. People were being wiped out, and he needed to figure it out and stop it. He settled himself into his bag a bit more and closed his eyes, praying he could drown out the muffled snores of Brask already coming from the man.

Conrad woke with a jolt when he heard it. The roar of a beast causing everyone in the came to jump up. Conrad’s eyes first moved to Aiyda’s bed. Empty. He jumped up noting Jonah and Yldra’s absences as well and he grabbed his clubbed hammer and was quick throughout the snow, much faster than the others anyway due to his long stride. They were close, only a moment away from the river, and yet once Conrad was close enough the bear had been piqued it seemed.

“NO!” Conrad yelled seeing the scene unfold. The idiot girl was sacrificing herself. It seemed as before the girl had even fallen in Conrad pulled his coat off and bounded after the girl, dropping his hammer. Without thought his body fell into the river after her. It wasn’t too deep, the bear made it across. Deep enough where Conrad struggled, and the current was strong.

He could see her bounding with the current downstream some, silently praying she would hit a rock, slow her, he was so close to her. “Aiyda! Hold on! He shouted, unsure if she was even conscious, unsure if she was even alive. The only thing keeping his body from shutting down in the cold was the adrenaline.Soon enough her body wavered, he grabbed her and tried to stand, again the current pulled them. He needed more power. His hands wrapped around her waist, and his other one outstretched with his feet, bracing for any rock of obstacle that would come. Then he saw a fallen tree. His hand gripped a branch sticking towards them, slowly but surely he pulled them to the snow covered bank.

“My coat!” He yelled at the others down the bank side. His lips were blue, and so were hers. He pulled her top layer of clothes off and touched her face gently. “Aiyda, come on, are you awake?” He asked her quietly now. He pulled his own shirt off and pulled her against his body, trying to provide any source of heat he could. “Fuck,” He muttered beneath his breath.

Monty came with the coat, and Conrad took it quickly, wrapping Aiyda up in it and lifting her now. “Take her clothes, we will need to settle them by the fire, keep them warm and try and dry them.” He had to get her back to the bedrolls, there she could be wrapped up in both his and hers. His breathing was deep and harsh as he moved back towards the camp, back towards the fire carrying her.

*

Caterina listened to her son, one whom she would call to wise for his age. At this age men were supposed to only think of playing about still. Older games, full of ale and nightly escapades, especially ones with beautiful women. Lyram lived his solely for duty.

Her eyes looked over him as he spoke of his jealousy towards his brothers, another smile greeting her lips, as the others were likely jealous of him, for opposite reasons. She did chuckle when he spoke of the Kilgour's fancying Ethon more, “Ah, each Kilgour seems to fancy at least one of you for different reasons.” Her smiled softened, “And I am afraid Conrad is left out again,” Her eyes attentive.

“Sometimes a distraction, like a fox, does a man well.” She pointed to him, she then brought his face forward and leaned up pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I will always worry about you, my son.” She whispered to him. Then she left another kiss upon his forehead before parting ways.

As soon as she was gone, it appeared Hector was to pop up behind Lyram, and he stepped around his older brother cautiously, replacing the spot where his mother had been. “You always were the favorite.” He pointed quietly.
 
The river was cold.

Inbetween waves rippling atop of her and rocks rolling beneath her with the current, Aiyda made an effort to keep her mind clear. She relieved herself of the weight of the bear rather quickly, the beast having taken its dying breath with her last arrow and fell like a boulder on the side of the river, but the stream pulled at her with a greater force, despite the shallow depth of its waters, like a numbingly frigid claw dragging her with an ungodly hunger in the direction of the flow.

It did not take long until the water sunk into her coat and reached the skin. She could no longer feel the tips of her fingers, nor her toes, and her chapped lips stung against the frost. The furs no longer offered aid against the cold, but only made it harder to move, to stretch for a rock or a piece of wood she could hang on to, to bear the current, to lift herself up on her feet and crawl over to the edge.

She did not hear Conrad’s shout in the wind. The river murmured louder in her ears, and when his arms wrapped around her, she could only imagine the bear had risen from the dead and sought its revenge. His warmth only kissed her for a moment, until it got eaten away by the frozen river, and numbed as she was now, the promise of safety around her middle seemed to fade.

Seconds passed, followed by minutes, harrowing hours until the current no longer pulled her down. Aiyda could not see in the dark, she could not hear the truculent pearling in her ears, but only low voices near her, like cries of battle, which she could not assign to a name. Every muscle in her body ached, the sound of her own scarce breathing as loud and agonizing as her numbness. There was a heavy lump in her throat, perhaps from the effort, or the fear still boiling in her blood as cold seeped deeper and deeper, reaching for the bone.



“Give her to me! Give her to me!” Jonah’s voice roared as Conrad approached. Lips blue and chest pale, the man could only think of the worst. He ran towards the fire and arrived quicker than the boy carrying Aiyda, with Yldra not far behind him, still shaken from witnessing the scene. He snatched the trembling girl from his arms and clawed one of the bedrolls to wrap around her shoulders, whilst the woman got the other, and desperately attempted to dry off the young lord with fervent movements.

“You can’t leave her in that,” she shouted back at him. With gentle movements, Yldra guided Conrad towards the fire and made a hasty gesture towards Jonah. “Take her jumper off. Take everything off and keep her in the coat. You should do the same my Lord, with your other garments.” It was much to ask from someone clinging to whatever source of warmth they could, but freezing his limbs off was no good.

Jonah clenched his teeth and pressed his hand to Aiyda’s neck. She was breathing – barely – but seemed too out of it to ask it of her. Letting out a sigh through his nose, the gently pulled the girl’s shirt off, beneath the dry covers, and threw it on his own bedroll by the fire. There was more than guilt bruising his chest then, more than regret, but he made an effort not to think of what would happen if she did not make it through the night.

“You’re a strong lad,” the woman spoke, one hand on his shoulder, and the other kindling the fire. “And a brave one for sure. Just like she is. That bear would’ve gotten the two of us, at least.” Although it was true, she could not tune down the voices in her head. “You will make it, Lord Conrad, it’s just a bit of cold water... Maybe you’ll catch an ache, but you’ll make it just fine.”

“They both will,” Jonah said, his eyes on the now twitching girl in his arms. Aiyda’s eyes fluttered open, then closed, her breath too heavy and coarse, damp locks of hair sticking to her pale forehead. “She’s got her father’s blood in her.”

*

‘Conrad gets his attention in other ways,’ Lyram was tempted to note, but he resigned and offered his mother a smile instead. It was true that the two oldest brothers were much preferred: he was the head of the family, heir to White Hall, and Hector was the most competent when it came to politics and diplomatic decisions. Conrad acted out of spite in many circumstances, which only got them into more trouble.

He chuckled lightly at her comment about distractions. Perhaps his own wife would be such for him, for he needed someone to keep his mind off things when his wits were not required. He could only hope and dream, but that could lead to painful disappointment. The last thing he wished to endure was breaking the heart of a woman who was ready to give hers to him in the name of her family.

Was he that good a son if he was not ready to do the same?

He watched her leave with a longing gaze, already missing her touches, but Hector’s voice by his side stirred him slightly from his daydreaming. “I was the first,” Lyram murmured. “And the first they’re willing to sacrifice. Sometimes I wish I were you, and sometimes I don’t... I could only imagine your pain at the thought of leaving our home.”

Lyram turned towards his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This will all be well. You will get to see me fluster before the Priest and laugh your ass off after the bedding ceremony. That’s what you and Conrad have been waiting for since your dowry dropped, isn’t it?” He laughed quietly, then took a step back. “It will come a time when I do the same for you two. I just hope you’ll get to live a better youth than I did. To fuck whoever you want to fuck and breathe in the air of freedom for a while longer... Until I die and you’ve got to take my place.”
 
Conrad followed Jonah and Yldra now. They seemed frantic, but his gaze was hazy, all he could think of was getting her close to the fire. Both Monty and Brask were surrendering their coats for Conrad and Aiyda. Conrad shook his head at himself, and pointed to Aiyda once she was out from his grasp, Jonah tending to her.

Conrad felt Yldra’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, attempting to reassure him where none could be found. “She’ll be fine too.” He spoke quickly with Jonah. “She’s strong.”

Conrad wasn’t wasting much time. “Bring me my bedroll.” He muttered to Brask, who obeyed quickly. Conrad then moved over to Jonah, “Let me take her.” He spoke quietly. There was no movement, “It will help both of us.” He clarified. He then took Aiyda lifting her back into his own arms, and then moving down into his own bedroll beside the first with her. He unwrapped her slightly so that her nearly bare body was against his bare chest beneath the blankets.

He kept his eyes cast downward, knowing the others might be staring, but he didn’t care. He knew this would work, they both needed body heat and this would help the both of them together. His arms were tight around her, but ready to loosen at any sudden movement.

“The beast is gone.” Brask spoke harshly, “You two should sleep. The girl will be okay, it is too the gods now. We need your tour in the morning.” Brask said to them and glancing to the two men. “Monty and I shall keep watch, a long night is a head.” He spoke carefully.

Conrad bend his chin into the crook of her neck and shoulder a moment, “Please wake up, please wake up,” he whispered to her.

*

Hector glanced to his brother, “Sacrifice?” He asked, “By the gods you are morbid. You really do need that wife, get you in a good lay, loosen you up.” He pushed his brother’s shoulder with a smirk now. When Lyram spoke about leaving home, Hector’s face grew pained for a moment.

Of course, the moment didn’t last too long, as Lyram invited him back for teasing, “Brother, I could work with all of that you just gave me,” he began, but then he clamped his hand on Lyram’s shoulder now, “Your life is not wasted here. Your life is good, and you won’t die, not with me and Conrad around, even if I’m not here.” Hector spoke.

Maybe the idea of leaving his home was getting to him. Maybe he was turning another leaf and getting sentimental seemed the way to go. “You’ll be a good Lord of the North. You always were going to be.” Hector spoke. He began walking past Lyram now, towards the library, but he stopped and turned back around to his brother for a moment. “You should make the bedding ceremony private. Like father did.” He spoke calmly now. “No woman wants to be paraded to a bed and basically be a show as you two fuck the first time. But don’t delay either brother, the way things are going we’ll need an heir pretty soon.” He smirked before turning back around and heading for the library once again.
 
Jonah was reluctant about giving the girl to the young Lord, but complied after a cold look from Yldra and gently leaned forward so that he could pick her up from his arms. Her form was weak, almost completely limp, her head still fighting to tense and not fall back in the man’s hold. As he took her towards the bedroll, she seemed to grow alert enough to scoot closed to the warm shape pressed to her. Perhaps the Gods had not abandoned her after all.

“She ain’t leaving to see her father just yet, I know that,” Jonah said, watching the scene unfold. Once she was underneath the blankets, he could no longer see her past Lord Conrad’s wide form. “You’ll both be alright come morning. There’s no rushing... And certainly no beast coming to mourn over the other. We’ll make sure of it.”

Yldra bit her lip and looked toward the tall mass still on the side of the river. “It would’ve gotten us well, were it not for her. I am grateful for that. She will know it... She will always have a place in Cailgait after...” Yldra stopped herself there, then turned towards the men who had decided to take guard duty that night. “You better make sure nothing comes crawling towards us again. And maybe make another fire while you’re at it.”


The heat radiating from the side of Aiyda’s face made her think of home. She was in a warm bed, wrapped up in furs, trembling beneath the covers as she waited for the hearth to warm her up. Ethon was by her side, careful to keep the blankets over her form tightly. She knew he was there, for she felt his arms around her in an almost aggressively protective hold, but she enjoyed the feeling of safety. Soon, she would have to wake, she knew. But how could she fall asleep if she was still so, so cold?

‘Please wake up.’ The voice she heard was odd in her ears, but so soft, so gentle, almost as if it did not want to disturb her.

‘Please wake up.’ Why should she, when she was so comfortable where she was then? What duties could not wait for her to catch a short slumber?

When she parted her eyes, Aiyda’s lashes fluttered against a broad shoulder, and the heat of a breath trembled over her skin. Slowly, the memories of that evening slipped back into her mind, and she knew then that it was not Ethon who was watching over her, and not a proper bed beneath her. The realization dawned on her with the weight of a boulder, and she felt her heart sink and shudder at the thought that he had made it. That they had both made it.

“The bear...” she whispered against his shoulder. She could not count to see if everyone else was alright, if Jonah and Yldra had survived the attack. Cold, damp hair stuck to the sides of her face and neck, but the rest of her was dry. Somehow, she was no longer wearing her clothes, and her almost nude form was pressed to his, in an attempt to take away the frost that had bitten them in the river.

“I a-am s-sorry,” she murmured to him. “I t-t-tried... I t-tried t-t-...” It was too difficult to speak then. Instead, she let her eyes flutter back closed and drew closer to him in an obedient silence.

*

A light chuckle left Lyram’s lips at his brother’s comment. He wanted to believe that his brothers would watch his back, but frankly, he was more worried about Hector down South. “What about you?” he asked sourly. “You won’t have Conrad and I around. You’ll be on your own... amongst strangers. You have to be careful and calculated in your words, brother.”

His gaze followed him walk away, saddened by the thought that it would be one of their last conversations before he set off for the Capital. When he turned around, his statement earned another smile, although this time not as genuine. The bedding ceremony did not sound like it was fit for a noble, nonetheless for someone with his preference for subtlety. No matter if the girl was not up to the standards he had been presented with, he could not allow any embarrassment to rain over her on her wedding day, or any other day.

He doubted Conrad would, either. As much as he was into the rougher side of romance, Lyram wanted to think that both his brothers had learned what the North expected of them. He was not as familiar with the customs in the East, but there was no question of bringing up such ceremony as anything more than a mere joke.

Lord Victor had taught them all well. Lyram was looking to honour him as best as he could.
 
Conrad heard her murmurs, her breathing was stable, but still much too soft for his liking. The pit of his stomach sank as her voice trembled. “No,” he whispered to her, his voice harsher than he had intended. “No,” he softened his tone, “You saved them both. You saved our entire company,” he clarified, his own tone growing tired with each word. His adrenaline was dying, and he was upon his own body.

As she grew closer, he let his arms wrap around her further, his next whisper was more quiet, “You saved them.” He breathed out, pressing his nose into her hair.

In the morning Conrad woke just as the sun had reached through the lower trees. He didn’t dare move, she needed the warmth, and he wouldn’t take that from her. The fire was still burning strong, which meant either Monty or Brask had been adding to it throughout the night. The rest of their camp was awake and packing, almost done in fact. Conrad’s open eyes caught Monty’s for a moment, Monty nodded to him.
Conrad laid back a moment. They were supposed to inspect Northcorss today. All he wanted to do was take her back to White Hall. Under their double bed roll he traced her lower back a moment, he could feel her steady breathing. Her breaths were stronger than when they had fallen asleep, but they were nowhere near the strength he would have liked them to be.

“Aiyda,” He whispered finally. He shook her very slightly, “Aiyda,” he murmured again. As she was stirring Conrad caught Yldra’s eye. “Could you help her with dressing?” He asked her, his tone did not sound as forceful as it usually did.

He rose himself now, and Monty had already abandoned prepping the horses to help him with the clothes. Conrad was thankful Monty and Brask had been tending to their clothes through the night, shifting it by the fire likely to dry them and to keep them warm. Once dressed he glanced back towards Aiyda, he did not want her to do anything. He wanted a quick scout of Northcross and then for them to be on their way.

He motioned for Brask to move over to them, “You both should begin the scout. Be quick. I’ll have her look at whatever she needs to, but we need real shelter.” He spoke trying to rack his brain for the villages they passed on their way back to White Hall. Nowhere too significant on the way back to White Hall. He didn’t trust sleeping at pubs, but he supposed he could stay awake while she slept.
 
The fire crackled quietly, a peaceful sound over the heavy morning. Yldra was worried, and she knew Jonah likely felt the same, for she had seen him peek at the young Lord and the girl through the night, but had not yet said a thing. Her own heart twisted each time she could not see them breathe beneath the thick covers. They were alive, though, and they had the Gods to thank when they woke up.

She had not been able to get enough sleep. By the time the first few rays of light peeked from behind the clouds, she was already packing her bag and Aiyda’s for the journey home. Their horses were ready, and the weather was smooth enough for travel. It was almost as though the chill of the previous night had been a dream.

“Will they be of use?” Jonah asked as he tugged at the straps on his stallion’s saddle.

Yldra looked up to him, then down to the bags of tea she had crammed into Aiyda’s bag. “I didn’t bring them for nothing,” she sighed. “It’s not much, but it’s what we can give her. I doubt Lord Sterling will want to ride to Cailgait with us.”

Johan shook his head. “No, he won’t. Too far the other way. But there are a couple of inns down South. Maybe even East, though I could not say I know those lands any longer.”

“You were a hunter once, Jonah,” Yldra smiled. “Those lands were your specialty. I remember what you told my little sister a few years ago... That you’d take her with you, show her all the secrets of the North. I am glad she was so young back then... Too young to rememeber those empty promises. I want a better life for her than scouting and freezing to death.”

She heard a soft voice in the close distance, and from the corner of her eye, she spotted Lord Conrad move beneath his double roll. She caught the movement of his head and nodded at his words, quickly folding the flap over Aiyda’s bag and hurrying over to the girl with her now dry clothes in her arms. Whilst the men turned around, Yldra gently pulled the covers away and helped her sit up. Her skin was pale and damp with sweat, but otherwise healthy, strong enough to ride. One look at her fingers, and she offered the girl a nod of encouragement.

“You’ll be alright,” Yldra smiled. “Here,” she said, and held the sweater up for her to slip into. Silently and cautiously, Aiyda slid into the comfortable wool and let it fall back over her chest, middle and hips, then almost lazily pulled her hair out from beneath the collar. Her locks were cold, still slightly wet here and there.

The girl peeked over Yldra’s shoulder to Conrad, who seemed to be moving at a faster pace than herself. “We’ll be looking around,” she let out a sigh as she forced her arm into the thick sleeve of her coat. “I will be paying respects to my mother... Then we need to go home. This place... This place is not right.”

“Of course... Of course,” Yldra smiled, mindlessly adjusting the buttons of Aiyda’s coat. “We will be going the other way... We’ve seen what we wanted to see for ourselves. But I did leave something in your bag for later... Some tea, for the fever.” Looking behind, she saw Jonah staring back at her, waiting. “You will always have a place in Cailgait, though,” she added. “You and your brother. Remember that. I will make sure of it. It’s the least I could do to thank you.”

“Thank you as well, Yldra,” the girl nodded. She let out a sigh and pressed her lips, almost regretfully. “I...” She trailed off, and decided it was best if she rose up on her feet and tried to regain her poise. There were many things she could have said, many thank you’s which the woman would return with a fervent sense of guilt. It was not something she had the will to hear right then.

With slow steps, she drew towards Conrad, leaving Brask and Monty to tend to their horses and luggage. Looking up to him, it was almost impossible to find the proper words to begin the day. In the blue light of the early morning, with his cheeks bitten by the cold, he looked nothing like the Conrad she thought she knew. Nothing like the ferocious Sterling she had met a couple of weeks before.

She decided it would be best if nothing was said for the time being. Aiyda followed the narrow pathway leading into the heart of the village, now all smothered smoke and ruin. Could she even tell her house apart now, dark and cold as it was? Had Mathys caught a glimpse of it one last time before he left the village’s memory forever?

She felt heavy. A cough tickled her lungs, and she only wished to slip back beneath the covers. “How are you feeling?” Aiyda finally decided to ask. A useless question, for she knew he felt nothing like he looked, but Conrad was much stronger than she was. She knew as much. Her fingers trembled, brushing gently against his own. “Has the... fever kicked in yet?” As she murmured, her pace grew slower towards the tall shadow she knew to be her old home. It was but a distraction from having to face reality. The sight did not even faze her any longer; it was only the weight, the darkness that surrounded it which scourged her heart.

She knew her mother had not passed peacefully. Nobody had. Death by the fangs of a bear would have been much kinder than such ungodly madness.
 
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The others were gone soon enough, and Monty and Brask were finishing with their bags and horses. Aiyda had just finished speaking with Yldra, likely they were giving her thanks and praises for her saving them. And yet Conrad couldn’t even bring himself to look over at Aiyda. His mind was plagued with something else. He wondered of asking his brothers what the feeling was when he returned home, but he doubted either would have felt it before.

The entire night he laid next to her nearly naked body, his own nearly the same. And yet he did not give one thought on her elegant forms, how her body fit against his like it proper should. The entire night he barely slept because he was listening for her soft breathing, and every time a breath would falter, or skip it’s pattern his stomach would drop.

Conrad walked with her along the path towards the village of Northcross. Neither spoke, and he could hear the gentle hooves of the horses Brask and Monty were leading behind them. Finally though she spoke, and when she asked how he was feeling he shook his head, “I am fine.” He spoke, his tone deep as he glanced away from her as her fingers touched his. But then she asked of a fever, and his attention was quickly back to her, “You have a fever?” He asked her. His own body felt hot, he knew he’d have some illness when he returned to White Hall. It always happened whenever him and his brothers swam too late in the season.

He looked to where the sun was in the sky. “An hour.” He said to her, his tone stiff. “We can look for an hour. But I want shelter before nightfall. We will stop at a pub’s in on the way.” He told her. He turned around now, Monty and Brask standing closer to where they had arrived from, almost like they were waiting on the northern road. “Brask, watch the sky once we start riding. I want us to stop before the night is on us.”

Brask nodded from where he was, holding up his hand as a sign he understood.

Conrad turned back to her now, his eyes moving over her carefully, looking for any signs of her being hurt. But when his eyes came to reach her face, looking over this particular home in ruins, it wasn’t hard to tell this was her home. “We will kill every last one.” He spoke. It was his best way to offer condolences, “No one else has to die.” He muttered. He knew this was of little help to her, other than her brother, everyone else she had ever known, ever loved was dead. He’d have to make it a point to Lyram not to let the brother do any fighting either. He wondered what would become of her if the child was lost too.

*

Hector stood in the library that morning, a book to his nose pretending to read. The Prince was across the room, reading himself it seemed. Despite the lack of events that morning, tensions were high all around White Hall. His departure was coming, he wondered if he would even see Conrad before he left. The previous nights events left King Corban and Victor in poor graces. Hector himself did not worry too much, Corban seemed little concerned with his involvement in future affairs. Maybe he would have been more giving if Hector lacked a cock and came with much less say. Little did the King know Hector would bed his son just as the King hoped a woman to become Queen would.

He smiled some now and made his way towards Prince Roddrick. No one was around, which was unusual for the Prince. Had he come to read by himself? No guards, not even a squire? Hector’s hand moved over the Prince’s shoulder a moment. “Shame last night gone the way it had. With the threat North I’m afraid my father’s patience has left him.” Hector spoke calmly.
 
Aiyda could read Conrad’s concern in his voice, yet it still did not cease to surprise her. From a conceited Lord to a heart-touched saviour, the change had come to suddenly for her to adjust to his newly found kindness.

Above all, she knew he suffered; he was in as much pain as she was then, if not worse, likely trembling beneath his thick coat, but too proud to say a thing. His observation earned a shallow nod, and Aiyda lowered her head in a slight defeat. “It is what Yldra said... And I do feel it,” she replied. “I believe we both have the Gods to thank it’s only a fever... And I have you to thank I am still alive to feel it.”

Her gaze met his only for a moment, before returning to the familiar ruin barely holding up in front of her. The lump in her throat seemed to ache more then, memories materializing in the wind, but vanishing just as quickly as they came to her mind. “My mother would want me to be strong,” she murmured. “She would want me to fight.” She could not allow herself to cry, not when Mathys needed her strong. She had left her childhood worries behind within the first night of the hunt; her home was now but a phantom of the past.

Kneeling, she pressed her palm to the wooden threshold and closed her eyes for a moment. It lacked the welcoming warmth she had known for so long, now left shattered and frozen. “I used to smell the warm bread and ale from here,” she whispered softly, more to herself than to Conrad. “Mother would greet us in the kitchen. She always had the table laid out for our father. I helped her sometimes, when I did not join dad in his duties around the village.”

They were lucky ones. It’s what the elders often said, with a smirk at the corners of their lips, whenever she or Mathys found the smallest reason to complain. They were still children, back then.

When she lifted herself back on her feet, she felt her blood tremble at the temple and trickle down to her soles. “We need to leave, and ride straight down to White Hall,” she said through a heavy, dazed breath. “I cannot stand another moment in this place. This is not my home anymore.”

Aiyda turned around, this once stern and frigid, and slowly mounted her saddle atop Krull. Her movements were too careful, too heavy, and she felt like she was growing weaker with each passing moment. Was that what Conrad felt as well? Was he struggling to keep his shoulders straight, despite his pain? She could not see it, not then, when she was blinded by her own ache. Perhaps her heart now needed the illusion of his health.

*

Roddrick had not gotten much sleep that night. Perhaps it had been the weather, or the full moon approaching; regardless, his eyes had refused to close until the crack of dawn, and soon he had been bothered by servants trotting in and out of chambers, down the hallways, clink of silver echoing behind them. He was not accustomed to the early rising of Northerners, and he strongly doubted he ever would.

Hector’s voice caught him off guard as he came cautiously towards him. The Prince had been focused on his own book, calculating and picking apart each word with a punctilious curiosity. As his hand came to touch his shoulder, Roddrick lowered the book and let out a breath. “You are nothing like your father, you know,” the Prince sighed with a smothered smirk on his lips. “They would like you in the Capital. You will fit right in... With your selected words and your... aura.”

He was much different compared to his brothers, as well, but that had been obvious from the very beginning. He was not as impulsive. And certainly not as preoccupied with women.

“The threat of the North... And you do believe in this threat, as I know?” the Prince spoke then, his hand coming to play over Hector’s. “Would it be improper of me to go against my father and say I believe it as well? He... has never been a particularly lenient man. He listens and gets bored quickly. Then he is in need of entertainment.” With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the book onto the table and leaned back in his seat. “We are alike in that one regard I believe.”

Whores never cut it for him. He doubted they did for Hector, either, although something told him he had had more experience with such forms of entertainment. “We will not be staying here for long, as you know. And I am already getting... painfully bored.”

*

Mathys’s knuckles hurt from the quick forceful knock against Ethon’s door. One of the lady servants had been generous enough to speak to him, more or less like speaking to a child or a mindless toddler, but she had - although reluctantly - given him the information he needed to sprint from his own chambers to Ethon’s as soon as the first ray of sunlight broke through the tree line.

“My Lord... Ethon,” the boy corrected himself quickly. His wrists ached and his hands were trembling in anxiety. There was a fire inside of him he had not felt for a long time, yet this once he was not there to put it out. He knew the servant would offer him no solace. If the servant was right, he had not gotten to his tasks just yet. “Ethon,” he spoke again, louder this once. “It’s my sister. Please open the door.”
 
Conrad let himself just listen to her words. His fingers and toes felt numb beneath his gloves. She looked back to him, speaking of Yldra, and then her mother. Touching her old home, or what was left of it anyway. Her words were empty in his ears, speaking about baking bread. He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, he wanted her back to White Hall and safe and he wanted a simple night’s peace. He knew that was too much to ask however, he wouldn’t be having another night of peace until the Hunt was dead, or he was.

When she spoke she wanted to leave he nodded, not arguing with that. He too followed quietly, mounting his own horse. “We are stopping before nightfall.” He informed her, his own tone stern and unwavering. She wouldn’t get a say in this one. He cracked his neck slightly, “We’ll make it to White Hall the day after next.”

He pushed his horse forward now, leaving no room for her to argue, she would not get a say. Lyram had been lenient with her, but he would not waver, her riding through the night, and she had a fever. He’d get her a warm bed, a strong cup of ale and proper food.

They rode along the Northern road, this far North was no longer even called the King’s road. The King’s road ended at White Hall. The sun was faltering over the trees now, and Brask looked back to Conrad now. “There is a small village called Forstford just a head.” Brask stated, “There is a pub that has lodging, I’m sure they will be more than accommodating to a Lord of the Sterling house and his company.” Brask stated.

The group followed Brask off the Northern road as the sun was now gone. The village they came too was small, less than half the size of Northcross. Not a sole was in sight, one might have thought the village abandoned had there not been light in some of the windows of the village houses.

Monty took their horses as they dismounted them at the pubs, Brask leading his way into the establishment. The barkeep seemed startled as the door opened. Brask requesting the rooms in a quiet exchange with the keep. The man looked to Conrad, nodding quickly. “Of course, of course. I shall have my daughter bring you all a meal.” He spoke quickly.

The older man lead them through the pub to a back room, the hall was short, only six doors and Conrad could tell by the closeness they were small. “These two m’ Lord,” The man spoke bowing awkwardly, clearly unsure how to address Conrad. Conrad spoke nothing, pulling Aiyda into one of the rooms. He could hear Brask outside with the man, “Yeh, yeh,” the man spoke, seemingly hushed, “No one strays aft’ the sun goes down’ not with th’ rumors… everyone been quiet” He said.

Brasks hand shut the door that Conrad and Aiyda had entered and Cpnrad pointed to the bed. “Get warm. I’ll take the chair.” he told her as he pulled his jacket off. He now leaned over the fire that was made, loading more logs onto it.

A knock came to the door after Conrad had finished with the fire, he opened it, a young woman holding a tray of food and some cups of ale gave him a wide eyed nod. “Thank you.” Conrad spoke and took the tray from the girl. Normally he would have watched when the girl walked away, but now he simply turned, closing the door and placing the food directly before Aiyda. “Eat.” He said taking a cup of ale for himself.

*

Hector let out the slightest chuckle at Roddrick’s words. His aura. The Prince’s words were well calculated, much like his own. He smiled again as he spoke of his belief of the Northern threat. Hector now looked down at him, “Boredom used to be a common occurrence here, in the North,” Hector spoke. His hand traveling from the Prince’s shoulder to over his neck as he looked up at him from where he sat.

The Prince’s collarbone mirrored his lean stature that was well endowed with a muscular figure, years of training had brought on that. But his figure did not resemble Corban’s the way Hector’s and his brothers looked like Victor. “I kept myself busy.” he told the Prince, his hand tracing up his neck, his thumb trailing along his jugular, tracing over his pulse point.

“I always keep myself busy.” His hand now gripped the Prince’s neck just beneath his jaw, “Perhaps we can help one another stay busy, entertain one another,” Hector;s other hand moved over Roddricks shoulder now. Hector was quick to glance around, they were clear, and his hand pushed down Roddricks front now moving towards his center. “The threat won’t stay North for long,’ Hector whispered now, his hand now gripping over the Prince’s crotch. “But in the meantime, I’m sure we will keep ourselves occupied,”

*

Ethon lifted from his bed at the knock, normally the boy rose early, but the previous night at the pub with the kitchen maids had kept him in bed. His head pounding from the booze and his cheeks aching from the laughter. An innocent night to forget the threats that had been plaguing the rest of them for the past few weeks. Him, Lehna and Arah had danced until their feet hurt, and drank until they could not see. Ethon even helping Lehna put Arah to bed as the girl had wretched her helpings from before they left.

Ethon opened the door in just his bed trousers, looking over Mathys trying to let the words register in his brain. “What do you mean it is your sister?” He asked quickly, the idea of Mathys knowing something seemed slim. Aiyda was with Conrad on a trip, scouting Northcross, they weren’t due back for at least another day, probably more though.

Ethon set one of his hands against the door frame, leaning slightly, then he moved from the door, shifting and motioning him arm, “Come in.” He spoke quickly. “What do you mean it’s your sister?” Ethon asked carefully, uneasiness setting within him. “Has something happened? What is it?” He asked him, his tone turning urgent and his head pounding harder.
 
The road down to Frostford was a blur. As the night fell over them, cooling the air and freezing the snow beneath their horses’ hooves, the repercussions of her heroism came to the surface. It became harder and harder for Aiyda to conceal her coughing, often burying her face in the collar of her coat to muffle it, or sniffling away the warm drizzle dripping from her nose.

It was not until they reached the inn that she stirred some vigilance back into herself to join Conrad and their guards into the warm vestibule. The sound of their voices merged into a continuous echo, ringing even louder in her ears whenever she coughed or sniffled yet again. She was no stranger to the feeling, and no stranger to the process of healing her mother lead each time either she or Mathys caught a cold.

Despite the dullness of her senses, Aiyda was able to pick up that Conrad was not at ease. It was strange how well he was holding up before her, when he had been exposed to the same polar cold and icy waters of the Northcross river. She knew that, if she dared to ask, she would get but a stern shake of the head, possibly a grunted ‘no’ to accompany his trouble.

The girl followed him into their new chamber without much thinking. It was warm, much warmer than the possibility of camping outside by the fire. The room was tight enough for the hearth to breathe its heat from corner to corner, so much that she could no longer smell the winter radiating from her garments. There was nothing more than a bed and a couple of chairs by a narrow table filling the space surrounding the fire - a modest place, but more than enough. People of the North were humble beings.

The chair. Conrad’s way of breaking the silence only reminded Aiyda of why it had started to begin with. “I am no baby,” the girl muttered in a raspy voice. “You are in need of comfort just as much as I am. As any of us. You are no martyr, my Lord.” Formality drew odd shapes on her tongue after the night they had spent so close together. She had been tempted to call him by his name, but knew better than to contest her place.

The door creaked open just enough for a young woman to peek inside, a tray of food in her hands and a wide gaze jumping from one face to the other. Aiyda let herself fall on the edge of the bed, slowly beginning to shrug off the layers of clothes she no longer needed. “We both eat. And we both rest. This is no place to play prince and servant,” she concluded with an odd confidence in her voice.

Despite that, she was still trembling. Her cheeks were of a fervent crimson and her eyes were damp. There was nothing she resented more than the weakness, or rather, proving him that he was right. She pushed the tray forward, closer towards him, and pulled herself to the side to make room for him on the mattress. “I know you are pain as well. Live this one night like I am not a peasant you have to share a bed with.”

*

Hector’s courage was not surprising. The Prince enjoyed the change for once - he no longer had to endure a painfully mindless obedience, and was instead treated with a confident charm. If only his father knew the benefits of bringing Lord Hector to the Capital instead of Victor’s eldest... If only he could place his son’s joy above political needs.

He would be forever grateful to Lord Sterling for not giving up his first son to the Crown.

Roddrick closed his eyes as Hector’s hand explored his neck, shoulders and body. The scene was far from private - anyone could barge in at any given moment, and yet the tension of it only fed him more excitement. “This form if entertainment... Perhaps I could get used to it when we go back. You know...” His own hand came to wrap around Hector’s wrist, keeping it still. “Recess is all the more enjoyable when follows a hard working day... And I have only had such days down in the Capital.”

The Prince rose from his seat, pulling it back with his heel, and drew closer to the young Lord. His gaze fell on his lips, waited, lingered for a moment, before it leaned in for a bite of what the man had hinted at earlier. “I could not risk a thing here. I do not trust your servants... But I do trust mine. They now how to keep their mouths shut when it’s required of them.” He smirked, tilted his head and touched Hector’s chin longingly. “I believe sheets are much better than cold, hard wood, don’t you think?”

*

Mathys’s gaze analysed Ethon for a moment, trying to steal enough time to gather his thoughts. The man was worried, but so was he. Would he believe him if he opened his mouth and spoke the truth, or would he think of him as mad? Paranoid? Lost? Perhaps he was, and the Hunt had meddled with his thoughts ever since leaving Northcross.

The boy let out a sigh and lowered his head, before letting his eyes flicker back to Ethon. “I saw her. I had a dream... Of her.” He knew his mother would believe him. She always had, and Aiyda had always sat on the edge of the bed, watching as their mother worked her spells to lure away the darkness, all whilst wondering if they had all gone mad. “I had a dream that she was drowning beneath frozen waters. She was alone... But I heard another voice.”

It had not been distinct enough for him to pick it up, but he supposed it was not as relevant. Looking down, his skin had prickled with a cold shiver. “My dreams... They were always about the Hunt, never too literal, but not far from the truth we’ve come to know. And if my... gift, is truly real... Then I believe Aiyda is in danger. One way or another... Drowning.”
 
As Conrad sat, pulling off his boots, he finally let out a small sniffle. His head was the worst of it all, pounding still, although he could feel the deep lump in his throat each time he swallowed, incubating and likely to only come with more discomfort in the morning. “Fine.” He muttered to her as she basically told him they would be sharing the bed and the meal, he wouldn’t complain.

He pulled off his coat hanging it over one of the chairs, pulling off more layers until he was just in the trousers he wore beneath the thicker pants he wore for snow. He lifted his arms, his hands balled into fists, trying to cover the cuts over his hands and fingers from gripping at branches in the stream. His muscles however, were sore and stiff, he lifted his arms attempting to roll his shoulders back and crack them as they felt cold and prickly.

He sniffled again, clearing his throat as he reached for some of the food the girl had brought them and he helped himself to sit into bed. His eye now glanced over her a moment. “You could have died you know.” He spoke to her finally. His tone neither upset, nor proud.

He took a deep breath, longer and deeper than intended, his body hurt. “I know you’re hurt.” He told her, “Or at least hurting.” He corrected himself, “My body hurts,” whispering he leaned back a bit more, closing his eyes, the next breath he let out came with the expression of pain on his face. “And a fucking bear fell on top of you.” his voice was tighter now, “I thought you were fucking dead.”

*

Hector snorted a bit at the Prince’s word. Judging by how he viewed this Prince, he probably hadn’t had a real day of hard work in his life. Hector knew he truthfully hadn’t either, but he knew what it looked like. He saw it in his father, and other men in White Hall. Most of all in the laborers at the pub.

Hector thought the Prince foolish to trust his own servants. He thought northerns were of the most loyal, and even then any man could be tempted. Hector trusted no one, truthfully not even this man before him. The only act that made this one bearable, was the fact if Roddrick were to accuse him of such it would bring shame and suspicion upon himself, especially because it was true.

He planned to take note of many servants in the south, befriend them, blackmail them. He would need informants, and people who would travel news of the North to just him and only him. He couldn’t be certain his messages from father and Lyram wouldn’t be intercepted.

“I think I like a little risk,” Hector said taking a step closer to the prince for a moment before taking a step away. “I look forward to our time in the Capital, my Prince,” Hector spoke the last part a bit lower than the rest. He began away from the Prince now. “I must go attend my brother, we have the journey from Northcross returning soon, as well as suitors from the east.”

*

Ethon watched him carefully, he was nervous, was it embarrassment? Shame? He wouldn’t look at him at first. But finally he did. A dream about Aiyda. That she was drowning. And yet as he watched this kid, only a few years younger than himself, fear in his tone, and immense worry. His gift. Yet as he looked at this boy, he had the same look in his eye as Aiyda had when she had seen the hunt.

Ethon swallowed hard, and then he nodded. “Tell Lyram or Victor, or even Hector, whoever you see first that I have gone to check the status of Conrad’s group.” He said to Mathys.

He was quick now, as he was pulling on his clothes, piecing together a bag to bring riding. He didn’t need much, he’d hunt after he got there… if there was anything left to find. She was drowning. But had that mean she was drowning at the same time as the dream, that she would? That she already had? He didn’t care. He slung his bag over his shoulder and yanked on his boots. His eyes now on Mathys as he was on his way out the door, “You stay here. And-” he began. He was unsure if he should share Mathys gift with the others. What if they labeled him as crazy? Lyram wouldn’t. Hector was a toss up, Victor would surely just pin it on the fact he was still a kid, but he was on his way to manhood, Ethon remembered what it was like when he was his age. “Just stay here.” He told him.

Ethon was beginning towards the kitchen doors to head out the stables when he was stopped by an older woman, the kitchens main cook, Martia. She had her hands on her hips and shook her head, “Where do you think you are going dressed like that?” She asked.

Ethon looked at her, who was she to tell him anything, he began to open his mouth, but she waved her hand. “We have a wedding to plan, a wedding Ethon!” She said to him.

“I don’t care about a wedding, I need to go!”

“Go where? And dressed like that? Are you hunting again?” She asked him.

“No, Aiyda’s… her and Conrad are in trouble.” He said.

“You get a raven?” She pinched his arm, “Follish boy it was your drunked dremas. Drinking my girls to sleep late, I have to prepare for a wedding! For THE wedding.” She smacked him.

Ethon loved Martia, but he was in a hurry, he sort of pushed the older woman out of the way. Ethon was now rushing towards the stables, pulling his horse, who seemed quite agitated to be taken out this early in the morning in the freshly cold weather. “Shut it, cold is coming, better now than in two months,” Ethon grunted has he lifted himself onto the back of his horse.

*

Hector was interrupted on his walk out from the library by a steward, who had news from the cook that Ethon had run off because Conrad and Aiyda were in trouble. Hector at first, scoffed to himself, Ethon was being stupid and impulsive over a girl. But after the recent events, he thought maybe it wasn’t so much of a love struck decision, but something more.

Hector headed straight for his father’s study, “Father, Ethon has ridden off, assaulted our cook maybe… but he thinks Conrad and Aiyda are in trouble.” He told him, slight worry in his own voice.

“What sort of trouble?” Victor asked, looking up from his papers.

Hector was only able to relay what he was told, but it wasn’t much.

“So you are telling me Ethon had fled on a hunch?” He asked simply. Hector did not know what to say, only nodded to his father and left his study quickly. But why would Ethon leave so suddenly, there was no reason.

He moved quickly now to Lyram’s room, knocking on the door rather agressively, “Oi! Did Ethon visit you earlier, tell you anything before he left?” Hector asked through the door still banging.
 
Aiyda was no longer fazed by Conrad’s attempt at being imposing. They both knew he was too exhausted and in too much pain to produce any form of dictatorship in the warm, tight room of the Frostford inn. She simply moved aside, just enough for him to nest himself on the other corner of the bed, and pushed the tray towards him, while taking bits of each option for herself.

Watching him, her worries were only growing deeper roots. Accustomed to his stronger side as she was, the softness and ache he radiated seemed to make even her own suffering worse. She forced herself to take a proper bite of her food, just enough to at least dull the painful growl in her gut, before setting it down and resorting to washing it down with some ale.

His next words came like a cold wave. She knew, she had known all along, and yet as soon as the sun had come up that morning, she had convinced herself to forget. It was been the right thing to do, she knew, for the people of Cailgait would have done the same for her. After all, she was the daughter of Jasper Saeberian, the late leader of the hunt. The good hunt. That day, he had lived in her memory.

“I did what had to be done,” Aiyda concluded with a soft sigh. “You no longer need me. Why do you care about the fate of a messenger?” Perhaps the true question was – would he care if she weren’t a pretty sight? He and Ethon alike cared for her, it seemed, although she could not pin down the reason behind their affection, other than her mere femininity.

Aiyda let herself fall back on the other side of the bed, her gaze now fixated on the ceiling. “My job here is not done just yet. You may not need my help any longer, but I will not go until I have done my part of protecting the North against those horrors. Armath. Whatever’s left of my family and friends... I don’t yet know how, but I have to, for Mathys. My father would have done the same.”

*

Roddrick found himself clenching his jaw as Hector shifted away from him. The man was not easy game, he should have known from the start, yet it was an odd sight to see a Lord back away from the advances of the future King. More so Lord Hector, who had shown interest first, although subtle, subdued enough so as to not cause any doubts in the minds of those watching or listening.

“Very well then,” the Prince spoke, a glint playing in his eyes. I suppose we will have to leave matters of political relationships for another day.” Sour, but not bitter. A part of him understood his concern, or at the very least made an effort to. “You should not leave your brothers waiting,” he added, as a weak attempt to sweeten the situation, although he knew it needed naught of empty gentility. Not coming from him, and certainly not for Hector’s ears.

He would speak to him again, soon.

*

“Before he left?”

Lyram stormed out of his bed quickly, running a hand through his locks and another adjusting the collar of his shirt. He had been reading letters from the Houses of the North, agreeing to attend the wedding or denying due to the short notice. His cheeks were pale and his lips were chapped – he needed ale, and a lot of it if he wished to get through the full day of preparations.

Even more so if Ethon had gone.

When he opened the door and his eyes fell on his younger brother, Lyram did not know what to think. He did not see worry, yet nor did he see ease. If Ethon had left the castle, he was likely not simply visiting the nearest inn. “What do you know of him?” he asked, his voice husky from the sleepless night. “Have you spoken to Mathys? Could it be the Saeberian girl?”

Otherwise, he doubted he would flee during such times, although Northcross was not too far away. A three day’s ride, or a night and a day without a break. Ethon’s horse was strong enough to pull it off, and the boy had all the reasons to leave. “Our father should have known it would happen... The moment he denied Ethon of his right to go with Conrad and the girl.”
 
He huffed now, did what had to be done? She sounded like Lyram. He rubbed his face a moment, at least she was eating, that was a good sign, right? “Need you?” He asked her in disbelief. “You’re the only living recount of what has happened. Everyone else is dead, you’re not a messenger, you’re a witness.. And you-” He cut himself off. “Whatever you are to anyone, no one deserves death by bear.” He informed her. No one deserved death by anything but old age, he thought.

Conrad watched as she laid down looking up at the ceiling, his eyes moved over her a moment before laying down himself. “You’re a woman of honor.” Conrad spoke more softly now. His mind was reeling with thoughts now, her motivations were intriguing, she was of the Northcross Hunt, and many of the hunters were honorable. Many people of the North were full of honor. Conrad himself was a man of honor.

“A war is coming.” His tone was even quieter. “We’ll all play a part in protecting against these… horrors.” His gaze shifted from the ceiling to her now, “We all don’t know how. I think we think we’ll know how. I assume Lyram thinks he will be in command right under my father. I will head defensive companies in our army. But an army won’t beat them. An army will only hold them off.” He let his gaze turn back up to the ceiling, “We need a way to beat them.”

*

Hector nodded to Lyram now, “Yes left.” He repeated, clearly frustrated himself. This was no time for Ethon to be running amuck playing house. Conrad fooling with the girl or not was on duty. Lyram had to worry about the wedding, so he could then worry about mustering up forces and plans against this force dawning on them. Likewise Hector had to do the same, worry about his ploys to make his way in the South.

“No, a steward told me, who heard from the cook, who heard from Ethon.” Hector now cursing internally for not finding the Saeberian boy before seeking out Lyram. “Of course it’s the Saeberian girl, what else would make Ethon flee?”

But when Lyram pulled his next line, saying what did their father expect Hector frowned more deeply. “It doesn’t matter what father should have known. Ethon had no right. Like you said, it was denied, it was a clear and deliberate order. Ethon has no rank.” Hector was fuming.

Ethon only disobeyed orders when someone was in danger. He’d only done it a few times before when they were younger, when a guard or Conrad fell hurt. Once he denied Lord Victor’s orders because he agreed with Lyram’s stance on a subject. Flares of disobedience, but nothing like this. “Ethon had no right to deny orders. The Saeberian girl holds no claim, neither does the boy. By the gods Lyram, show you have a backbone. When Ethon returns you need to proceed with consequences, with punishment. If Ethon can disobey orders, what’s to stop the others?” Hector told his brother. “You need to be harsher on all of us.” Hector spoke lowly to his brother.

“Now come on, we need to go speak to the Saeberian boy. He’ll probably know why Ethon ran.” Hector frowned, hoping Lyram would take care of Ethon.

*

The air and snow slapped harshly into Ethon’s face as he rode. He kept his head low, right beside his horses neck and kicked his sides every few feet, encouraging him to ride faster. He wouldn’t even make it halfway until day break, and a journey like this would be either camping in the woods, or stopped along the way at night, if nothing had gone wrong. But if it was true, if she was drowning, if she had drowned, it’d be over by the time he arrived. Could the boy see the future? Was it the past or the present perhaps? What was he riding for if she were gone? But what if she were alive? He kicked harder, “Come on!”
 
Conrad’s words cut her like a blade. ‘Woman of honour,’ she thought, chewing on her lower lip. It was a grand thing to call a girl of her age, especially grand coming from a Lord. It was, after all, what she aspired to be – the living memory of her father. And yet, in that moment, she felt powerless, despite what she had achieved having saved the Cailgait scouts. She had done but what would be expected of a hunter. How else could she prove herself if not in war?

A war she was not ready for. None of them were, in fact, children or not. It was not a mere political storm of swords that they could discuss through letters and diplomats. It was not a battle they could win by planning their position on the field.

No, the enemy required much, much more.

A breath escaped her lips, and she turned her head to him. They were both trembling from the fever, boiling and vulnerable, but somehow, Conrad still did not inspire pity. In her eyes, he was still the fearsome son of Victor Sterling. “You are much stronger than me,” she contemplated softly. “If one of us will survive this, it is you. I do not fight for survival.” He did, however, for the sake of his family. All she had was Mathys, and if Mathys died, what purpose did she have in the world?

“There has to be a way,” Aiyda concluded. “They have been defeated in the past... we might not have magic swords now, but there are elders who know the secrets of the past. We could ask... Offer gold. There is no price greater than life, and among the Lords who barely believe us, I am sure the commoners would at least bend their ears to what we have to say.”

Another light knock disturbed the silence, this time more hasty against the old wood. Aiyda shot up, shifted her eyes to Conrad for a moment, before heading towards it. It cracked open before she could touch the handle, a gesture that startled her, but through the opening she saw a pair of big, doe eyes, looking up to her as though she were a ghost.

“My Lady... Lord... A man just arrived. I... Believe you have a visitor.”

*

Lyram gritted his teeth, thinking. He had always kept Ethon close to his heart, always protected him, and in that moment, he was conflicted at the thought of chastising him for youth’s impulse. “He would not have left without a reason,” he said to Conrad, now more irritated than before. “If there was a letter... It would have reached me first, not him.” Otherwise, how could he know of anything happening up North?

He nodded to his brother’s suggestion to see the boy. “Her brother is gifted. If what the maester said was true, then we might be in for slightly more than some stupid romance. Ethon is not an idiot... I hope.”

His soles roared in a loud echo against the stone floor. He walked fast, storming past servants and guards, not bothering to look behind him to see if Hector was following. He knew the way to Mathys’s room and found it rather quickly, in the corridor where his sister’s chamber was, as well. Lyram lifted his fist to knock on the door, but stopped in mid air, the wood creaking and parting before he had the chance to announce his name.

“My Lords,” the boy’s head appeared from behind the door. He looked weakened, disheveled, as though that night had not graced him with much rest. He opened the door all the way and stepped back, his glance shifting from one face to the other. “May I help you, my Lords?”

“You may,” Lyram spoke, jaw tense. “Has Ethon seen you this morning? Answer honestly, Mathys, we are not here to chastise anyone.” Yet.

The boy breathed and pressed his lips tight. He was wavering, Lyram could tell, and he made an effort to soften his own gaze, so as to take away from the bitterness that might have touched it. “He has, my Lords,” he said. His eyes were darkened in thought or contemplation. He was more difficult to read than his sister. “I told him I had a vision of my sister last night. I told him she needed his help.”
 
Conrad shook his head, “It’s not about strength this time. Strategy.” He ran a hand through his hair, wishing the simple action did not cause as much pain in his body as it did. The determination was admirable. He did agree, there has to be a way, there always had to be a way. “It’s a balance of nature,” He commented. “Magic wouldn’t exist without some sort of magic to defeat it. It’s… I dunno, I mean maybe there is no way to defeat it, but we can’t sit like geese waiting to be shot.” Stretching his legs he brushed his hand along his torso, “They don’t want gold. It must be power. When they attacked…” he glanced to her, he didn’t want to upset her, but this conversation was helping him think, “They left no one except one. If they wanted something other than power… they would have taken prisoners, would have bartered. Wouldn’t they have tried to negotiate something before attack?”

When the knock came he sat up in bed, but she was faster. The voice that came was the tavern master’s daughter, a man had come to see them?

Without warning a man burst through the door wrapped head to toe in snow covered clothing and his face wrapped except around his eyes. His arms were instantly around Aiyda, muttering some shit about thinking she was dead. Conrad was quick from the bed, pulling the man off of her, “Don’t touch her!” He snapped, instantly pulling a blanket from the bed to give to her.

The man was quick to pull off his coverings now, the freshly pink cheeks belonged to Ethon and Conrad’s aggressive demeanor subsided some. “By the gods,” Conrad huffed out.

Ethon looked at Conrad and then at Aiyda, the pair of them in minimal clothing and his eyes shifting now to the bed. The bed which seemed to be ruffled on both sides, suggesting the pair were together in it. Ethon’s gaze was on Aiyda now, “Mathys dreamed you were drowning.” He told her, “I thought… I thought you had died.” He expressed.

Conrad though was more shook by the message, “He dreamed it?” He asked, “shit, that means…. She was drowning, or well almost did.” Conrad clearly impressed by the boys abilities, “Is this why the maester is having him record his dreams with him?” Conrad asked before he could realize how stupid he was. Why else would the maester have him do such a thing.

“Has anything else happened Ethon?” Conrad asked him, having the moment to collect himself, “Perhaps the boy saw something else?” He wondered. Conrad paused a moment, “When did he have this dream?” He asked suddenly, “Was it in the middle of the night? The morning?”

Ethon shook his head, “What? I dunno, I didn’t ask, I rode as soon as he told me.” Ethon said, he took off his snow covered clothing now, taking another step towards Aiyda, reaching for her hand, “Are you hurt?” He asked now knowing she had in fact fell into the water at least, and almost drowned according to Conrad. “How did you get out? Should I go request more logs for the fire?” His concern was her, he could debrief with Conrad later.

*

Hector huffed yet again, Lyram reasoning for Ethon was unacceptable in his eyes. Letting the damned boy do as he pleased without first telling his Lord. They gave Ethon more freedoms than he was entitled to, and normally Hector did not care, but this was a line he didn’t think should have been crossed.

“Please you’ve seen the way he looks at her. He’s an idiot.” Hector confirmed, his own brain chastising the love a man has for a woman. He thought it pitiful, ‘love’, Ethon barely knew this girl, it wasn’t love, it was attraction and he was thinking with his prick. And Lyram was thinking with honor and loyalty. Sometimes lines had to be drawn, and Hector prayed his brother learned the notion before anything more serious came about.

Hector’s jaw was tight by the time they had reached the boys chambers. The kid was uneasy, and Hector wished he would just muster himself up and tell them what exactly happened. Lyram was too easy on everyone.

“What was this vision?” Hector asked. He was usually a very patient man, but he had little patience for disobedience. It wasn’t the boys fault, Hector’s anger should have been directed towards Ethon. He paused yet again, collecting himself, and then he nodded a bit. “Listen, it is a dangerous time, as you know more than anyone,” Hector looked over the younger boy a moment, “Ethon shouldn’t be fleeing without telling anyone, and if you have a vision of such seriousness, you should be speaking to Lyram, or our father.” Hector was trying to keep himself tame. He wasn’t sure the boundaries in this situation, which was only the more maddening.

His mind was reeling, what if something happened to Ethon in the midst of him trying to save the girl. Victor was always keen on Ethon’s safety, something Hector never understood, but the realization was real when they were young. Once when Hector was thirteen, Ethon only nine at the time, the boys had been playing in the woods, Ethon had wandered to far and it had grown dark. Conrad insisted they keep looking for Ethon, but Hector knew they had to get themselves home. One lost boy was better received than four. He’d never seen his father so furious. He could count on one hand how many times his father had truly lost his temper and that was one of them.
 
Aiyda only caught the glimpse of a dark silhouette behind the door frame before a cold, hard shape pulled her towards it with a tough force. Her cheek pressed to the ice now melting against the leather coat of the stranger, his breaths soft and muttering from behind the shroud covering his mouth. It was not long before Conrad’s firm grip pulled him away, and Aiyda lifted her gaze, the whisper leaving her lips as the realization came to her.

“Ethon?” she breathed out, trembling from the sudden gush of cold. He seemed to have brought winter itself into the room, for the fire no longer bore against the ice.

She watched him remove his coverings quickly, almost desperate to show himself before Conrad lashed out. Aiyda’s heart was beating like a restless drum, pouding so hard through her chest that one could almost see her clothing tremble. He had traveled all the way from White Hall, at the call of a dream that may or may not have been just that. He had come to see if she was alive, despite knowing that Mathys had seen her dead, or dying.

He could not be blamed. She would have likely done the same, if she could. His warm hand came to cup hers, and she received the touch with an embrace. “I am fine... I am alright now,” Aiyda explained, in an attempt to soothe some of his panic. She pressed her head to the crook of his neck and let out a sigh of both relief and wonder. “I... I was attacked by a bear when I tried to save our company from Cailgait.” It sounded incredible now, almost as though she were describing a dream. “It pushed me into the water... And Conrad jumped after me. I am fine because of him.”

Eventually, she let go, yet another breath leaving her nose. “You did not know what Mathys said was true, and yet you still came all this way?” A stupid question - Mathys’s dreams had always been true, or close to the truth one way or another. “You did not know where I was... drowning. You did not know whether I was still alive. You could have come for nothing.” And yet he had come, regardless, and was standing in front of them breathlessly, likely trying to tie Mathys’s dream to what she had told him.

Aiyda shook her head and took a step back from the two men. “I will ask the innkeeper’s daughter for some dry clothes for you.“ There was enough room on the bed for the three of them, she thought, but did not wish to bring up the subject then. She made a note to also ask for another room, if possible, if only to avoid the glares between Ethon and the young lord.

*

Mathys felt the pressure the Sterling lord was putting on him, but was not quick to answer his question directly. “You have siblings,” he eventually spoke. “You would know I would do everything within my power to protect Aiyda. She’s my sister... She’s all I have left, and if I can’t leave this place and ride for Northcross myself... Someone had to.”

He pressed his lips into a line, whilst Lyram eyed him like a beaten child. At the very least he appreciated the lack of protesting on his part, which by the look on Hector’s face, was not quite as far from happening. Mathys took another breath and started speaking again. “I dreamt that my sister was drowning. Dying, somewhere I did not know. And as you have seen... My nightmares have proven to be bad auguries each time.”

They knew, for Aiyda had brought it up in their short council. Everyone knew now, and treated him like a deranged toddler most of the time, from maester to guard and servant. “Ethon was the only one I could trust with going after her. Nobody else would. Not now when... when they are all more preoccupied with your wedding, my Lord.”

Lyram’s eyes remained on the boy, thinking. He could not chastize him for looking after his sibling, and yet Hector was pressuring him into taking action. “You dreamt of her drowning, not of the Wild Hunt,” the man cleared it up for himself. “At the very least, Ethon will find Conrad and the guards our father sent along. He will come back to us, soon.”

He turned to Hector now, the veins on his temple slightly dilated. “We will wait until tomorrow. If the scouts don’t spot any sign of them near White Hall, I will send a search party, just in case... In case Conrad and the others took a wrong turn.”

*

“Lord Sterling, the Queen wishes to speak to you.”

Amara’s knuckles were pale, but she held herself tall and strong before the door of Lord Sterling’s study. “You may leave, now,” she turned towards the guards behind her, donning the emblem of House Kilgour etched in their golden armour. The men bent forward and turned around on their heels, disappearing with loud metal clinks behind the corner of the hallway.

She had not tested her own voice that morning yet, but instead had had the guards do the speaking for her. The emptiness in her stomach and the burning flame in her chest did not help either, yet she could not postpone this conversation any longer. Not when it came to a man as unmoving as Victor Sterling.
 
Ethon’s eyes glanced to Conrad instantly when she spoke she was there because of him. Conrad did not seem to be looking at either of them. “Fortunate Conrad was there then.” Ethon spoke quietly. Her next words came, basically questioning why he would even come if she could have been dead.

Conrad seemed to answer for him though, as the larger boy let out a grunt, “It wasn’t for nothing.” He spoke. “I’ll get the clothes, and some more wood. I’ll need wood for a new room as well.” He pulled on his shirt as he left the room.

The moment Conrad was gone Ethon squeezed her hand harder, he refrained from hugging her, knowing the events of what had happened she couldn’t be embracing his cold body yet. “You tried to save people from a bear?” He asked her now, unable to hide the small smirk at the side of his lips.

Conrad was back soon after, placing logs and the clothes on a chair at the side of the room He now picked up his own clothes, wood still under his other arm, “Sleep well, we leave in less than a few hours. I want to get home before nightfall.” He nodded to the pair before leaving the room, the door across the hall closing after he had shut this one.

Ethon first tended to the fire that was basically out since his arrival. He was able to get the flame up quickly, and added two more logs, leaving another incase they would need it later in the night. He now pulled the fresh pair of trousers on, and then the shirt.

“Being home by nightfall will be good.” he sighed setting himself on the edge of the bed, stretching out his shoulders as he lifted one of his arms over his head. “Mathys must be worried. At least I got an answer after his vision.” Ethon relayed as he leaned back on the bed some now.

*

Hector shot a look to Lyram now at his words, for someone who wished to coddle the boy so much, saying at least they would find the rest of the lot didn’t seem very reassuring. But Lyrams next word of warning, and Hector shook his head, “Conrad wouldn’t take a wrong turn. And in the face of conflict he would fight. They’ll be back, or they won’t be.” Hector spoke sourly.

Hector now nodded to Mathys, “Come,” he said motioning for Mathys to follow him. Hector now looked to Lyram, “Go warn your guards to keep a look out for our little brother.” Hectors hand moved over Mathys shoulder as he walked from the room. After a moment Hector released the boy once they were a distance from Lyram.

“I want to show you our library Mathys,” Hector began, “I’m sure maester Brion has shown you some. But there is a lot to learn. I think you can be more helpful than you think.” Hector stopped walking now, and he turned to stand in front of the boy. “My brother needs advisors, maester Brion is smart, he knows the way of the North, but he is old. I know you are smart as well, and you know the old ways of the North.”

He motioned for the boy to continue walking now, “Learn from Brion, learn from the books. Lyram listens to everyone, sometimes it is his biggest downfall, but it is also a strength.” Hector laughed now, “If you tell him I said such I will deny it.”

He led him into the library towards a back room, many books were stacked outside of the room, “An old maester’s room I adopted as my own. When I leave you will need somewhere to study.” He picked up a journal now and handed it to Mathys carefully, “I write my more important notes in code. I shall write a key for you to decipher. I ask you only this Mathys,” Hector had never been so serious with the boy, “I want you to write to me while I am in the capital. I will send you word on where to send your letters to, I won’t be having them delivered to the castle.”

“This one is in the common tongue, some of my favorite snippets from my favorite stories, most of it’s seen as lore, although we can’t be too sure to rule it out now.” He nodded again, “My brothers and father will be sending me word at the castle. Should a problem arise, I want you to tell Lyram you can write to me secretly. I want true updates, this is why the code is important, and why the letters must come from you and be delivered to an outside source. They will likely read some of the letters my brothers send me.” Hector was hoping the boy would understand.

*

Victor stood as the Queen herself entered his chambers. She directed the guards to leave, which earned a polite smile from Lord Sterling, “You were never shy about orders.” he nodded.

Any hint of a smile, or joke on his tongue quickly faded, he had a feeling he knew why Amara was there, but he would indulge her as a guest further. “What has brought you here to my chamber? So early in the morning?” He wondered, attempting to hide any look of knowing within his face or voice. She would have to be the one to say it, not him.
 
Conrad’s vexation did not go unnoticed. Aiyda watched him, thoughtfully biting her lips as he spoke. It was clear to her then that the young lord felt out of place in the room, despite the closer moments they had just shared before Ethon’s sudden arrival. She was tempted to bring mention of it, but Conrad left like a stormy breeze before she had the chance to gather her thoughts.

As the room once again reserved itself for two, Aiyda’s attention returned to Ethon. The smile in the corner of his lips brought a comfort and joy she did not realised she had been missing. “It was watching them from across the river,” the girl sighed softly. “They had no weapons with them... They had gone to bring fresh water.”

The door opened again, and Conrad was back into the room with a few logs and clothes for Ethon. Aiyda offered him a gentle simper, one she hoped would offer reassurance, but she was meet with an almost rampant haste instead. “Thank you... Conrad,” Aiyda tried with a touch of informality in the hopes of regaining his sympathy. Beastly as he was, he seemed fragile then, sensitive, more resembling a boy than the man he had tried so hard to prove himself to be before her.

Aiyda took a step back from the door and towards the fire, allowing Ethon to make himself at home. She held her arms crossed against her chest, her gaze darkened and her lips pressed into a fine line. There was much on her mind, much she did not want to endure then, when every muscle in each limb was begging for rest, and her skin boiling with fever.

Ethon’s words passed her ears too quickly for her to process them. She let out another heavy breath once he was sat on the bed, and came to sit on the edge next to him. “I am not blind... Nor stupid,” she whispered softly. Her throat was still sore, the pain now apparent in her voice. “I swear I knew where his mind was at two days ago. Then I didn’t anymore... Not until you came. All he wanted to do was to protect me.” For one reason or another, she had become his reason of concern, his purpose before arriving home, until another wolf had come to take that from him.

She turned to him and pressed her heated palm over his hand. His skin was still cold, only now starting to drink up the warmth of the hearth. “You saved me from the woods that day, Ethon. And Conrad saved me yesterday, and I’m standing here, wondering what I did to deserve it. What makes me worthy of being saved... When I could not save my family in return.”

*

Mathys listened to the lord’s sour words quietly, his own gaze darkening at the thought. He was too numb to worry any longer, yet at the thought of losing Aiyda, he could feel the soft hairs on his back rise. His gifts could make him useful, but what would he be fighting for if all he had left had gone? If she had drowned indeed, like in his dream, and Ethon was too late in saving her?

He watched Lyram leave with heavy steps, as though he were stomping in a silent protest, before turning back to Hector. He did not wish to be helpful. He did not wish to speak to the maester again and recount his nightmares, but what would Aiyda say to him if he refused? What would their father say in the afterlife, when they met after his failure?

Mathys swallowed and followed Hector into the room at the back of the library. He already was accustomed to the layout of the castle, to the twists and turns in the large library where maester Brion had lead him in their search for complete solitude. “Your family needs good advisors,” the boy interrupted bitterly. “Good men who know war... History. I know but tales. We cannot simply count on my dreams once the Wild Hunt is approaching.”

Learning sounded too easy said by the young Sterling, but Mathys knew from his childhood that books seldom offered more than necessary to grow. How would he be able to tell the truth from lie, history from legend? Seeking an answer was akin to searching for a needle in a hay sack, and they did not have the time to pick at details.

His attention was quickly directed to the journal, and his mind shifted from denial to curiosity. “You don’t trust them, do you?” Mathys asked. “The Kilgours. The South isn’t safe for a true Northerner.” He knew that, and yet Lord Sterling could not afford to deny the King of his request. “This I can do...” he sighed, “but I cannot promise you safety. I cannot promise I will warn you of your enemies down South. And my priority will always be my sister.”

*

“You are a man of many talents, Victor,” Amara spoke as she stepped into the chamber, her steps gentle on the stone floor. “Dare I say your intelligence is far above my husband’s, Gods forgive me.” The room felt cold, not nearly as welcoming as the darkest back in the Capital, and even then she had failed to grow accustomed to the atmosphere.

The Queen paced towards the single chair facing Victor Sterling, but did not take a seat. She let her fingers trace over the backrest and waited, almost more interested in the woodwork than their conversation. Then, her expression turned stern, and she redirected her gaze to him. “You have done what had to be done all those years,” she said then. “You took what was not yours and protected it. Nurtured it. Grew the seed into a tree and fed it your knowledge. A good man.”

She turned on her heels then, now nearing him with every step. “But what you did was against my will. You knew all this time... And you defied me. You knew of my agony and you thought you knew better than a mother fighting to protect her child.”

An abrupt break left her eyes sharp, digging into his form. Amara swallowed sourly, watched for a flinch of protest, but kept her poise. Her palm itched, and her heart beat rapidly against her chest, through her throat and reaching her temple. Despite that, her expression remained still, as if sculpted in marble. “I know who Ethon is. After all these years... I know.”
 
Ethon felt her hand moved over his, her hand much warmer than he would have imagined. Almost too warm, and the way she sat right beside him on the bed surprised him as well. He was expecting her to climb right into bed and sleep.

Ethon shook his head now, “Please,” he informed her, “It’s not about being worthy of saving. I would have helped anyone in the woods. Had I seen a different face, with a different look on their face… I may not have believed their stories. But I would have helped.” He told her, the look on his face fading a moment remembering the look on her face that evening

“I cannot speak for Conrad, but I think he would have done the same for Brask if he’d fallen in.” He tried to add a smirk, but he was prolonging the true issue of her words. “No one could have saved your family. You have been lucky I think, being in the company of good people who have been able to aid you. Not even Lord Sterling would have been able to save your family.” Ethon breathed out his hand now turning over and clasping around hers.

He leaned his forehead towards her now, pressing his forehead to the side of her head, as he sighed slightly, “I’m sorry about your family.” He muttered. He could not whisper any to console her, telling her she still had Mathys, and that their efforts were helping to save the entire North would not help her.

Instead his now lifted his hand, moving it just beneath her cheek turning her head to face him. “You should sleep, or at least try. It will likely still be snowing come morning, and Conrad will force us to move early and quickly. Wish we could move slower, the castle is tense,” Ethon leaned back on the bed cocking a brow slightly.

“Lyram is put off about his wedding. I haven’t seen Lord Victor this strung out since Lyram fell ill when he was thirteen… and the King and Queen and the Prince…” Ethon shook his head now. “If your brother didn’t deserve an answer I’d suggest we stay here, maybe take a nice long hunt until everything settles.”

*

“You’re right. My family does need good advisors, young and strong minded advisors. Ones who come from respect families. I’m not asking you to be the next maester, but Lyram will keep you around.” Hector then nodded his head slightly, sighing, “And unfortunately I think you will know war sooner than later.”

Hector looked more closely at the boy now. He was curious, and although he still seemed confused and shocked by Hector’s request, he somehow understood it. Hector closed the door quietly, and then he moved to stand directly before the boy. He was only a few inches shorter than him, and Hector knew the boy would grow. “I not asking for you to protect me, Mathys.” He spoke clearly. “I am asking you to help me protect my family, my people. I know your sister will always come first. I don’t think you need to worry about her too much with Ethon after her safety as well.” Hector added, “I do not trust them. I do not think any of us can. I need a Northerner, with unfamiliar handwriting and code,”

Hector knew he had likely never appeared this vulnerable in his entire life, but his eyes were pleading with the boy. “I am trusting you. Please, for my family, for the North, for your sister…” Hector asked.

*

“And you a woman of many,” Victor commented. He withheld his next thought, intention to speak of the fact that her intelligence was far superior to her husbands as well. But he quickly found the direction he thought this conversation was veering towards was now on its way. He listened to her words, accusing him, or perhaps was it harsh praise.

He thought about denying her accusations, but the Queen would never reveal such facts to anyone else. Still unclear what she wanted from this conversation, Victor decided to indulge her. “I did what had to be done.” He spoke just as harshly back. “In beggars hole with a whore. Wealthy men came into that establishment every day, if someone found out his identity, he would have been killed.” He told her sharply.

“And Roddrick….” Victor added now, “How would the boy react if he knew he was nothing but commoners blood… hand picked by you to be slaughtered.” Victor spoke, his chin lifting slightly. “And the whore ran to you she stole your true heir, and yet, to her, you stole her baby. And so she put all her love and time into this boy. A good boy. A boy who still dreams of returning to Beggar’s hole one day to see his mother.” Victor told her.

“Tell me Amara, did you even try to find him? Because according to Marietta she hid him well, no one had come before. But someone had known, for who else could have told me?” his jaw was clenched harshly. “You have been stupid. They told me, and who else could they have told? Who else has this information to hold over your head? I saved the boy from his fate… and for all I know someone else could have come looking for the boy and slaughtered the whore in frustration of his whereabouts. His circumstances are stacked against him, and so I taught him to fight and think for himself.”

Victor stood up himself now, “The future of this country is depending on the blood of a common boy whom you attempt to pass as your heir. People know of this lie Amara. And lies like these are the ones that start wars over a throne.”
 
Aiyda knew that Ethon cared – perhaps too much at times – yet his words of condolence were in vain. There was no going back and no attempting to fix what was already broken. The North was worth one village less, and had lost the bearers of the tradition of an era, which not even the forces of the greatest Lords could balance again. And she, herself, had lost her family, her home, her meaning in the world, yet one which had quickly been replaced by something new. She ought to fight in their name now, to protect what was left of it until the curse of the Wild Hunt took all that survived.

‘But with what army?’ she kept wondering, and the thought of her inability was painstaking. Not even someone as strong as Conrad could hope to face such damnation alone. They were all aching, all weak, and to her it seemed the rest of the world was living carelessly, ignorant to the true danger of its existence.

Ethon’s forehead pressed to her temple, and Aiyda let his hand guide her head towards his. He was right, there was nothing she could have done. Her running away could have been the only warning, if the Wild Hunt had somehow gotten Mathys as well. Sleeping felt like wasting time, but there was no fighting the darkness in that state. “You should, too,” she murmured towards him, her voice now growing huskier. It was getting more and more difficult to speak, and her skin was aching like burnt by flames. “I count on you to wake me up in the morning... I might not have the will or strength to.”

The news of a wedding had not yet reached her ears, but in that moment she was too fatigued to care to wonder about the meddling of two nobles. His suggestion, however, took her by surprise, and she tried a chuckle from the corner of her mouth. “I wish I could,” she said, “but I would rather cough my lungs out at home... White Hall. I suppose Mathys and I could call it home now. We have nothing else.”

Painful bitterness sneaked into her heart, and as she drew closer to lay her head on his chest, she held his hand tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for coming all this way. The Gods have been merciful to give you to me... I am lucky, Ethon. After all of this, losing everything, I might get to save the world, and I will have you by my side, at all times. If you stay.”

*

The entire North was on his shoulders, and Mathys felt all too young to keep its secrets in one head. Pursing his lips, the boy let Hector speak, wondering if his words were genuine. If he truly trusted him with the matters of his family, or if he simply wished to keep him occupied instead of running around sniffing for danger like his sister was.

“Things are getting tense ‘round here,” he concluded. “I have not been sleeping. The Kilgours... They are not here for plain reasons, I feel like. And with the Wild Hunt here, now, after all this time. People are speaking of the Heir’s Augury, they’re wondering... And they’ll be sure once they hear what the Wild Hunt has taken with it. My family did not die to a wildling attack. It died to a rising legend.”

He took a step back and clutched the journal in his hands. Until Aiyda came back, he would have to analyze it well, and he did not lack the time. He would sleep, and he would try to dream. He would remember the plants and herbs that his mother used to chant her songs, bring all the power that he could into his visions.

There was much more unfolding than political turmoil.

“I promise to honour your trust, my Lord,” Mathys said. “I am still a boy. They won’t let me fight. The least I can do is man the letters.”

*

Amara was still as stone, watching and listening with a beastly poise. Victor was as intelligent as few she knew, he had done his part in protecting the gift he has wrongfully stolen. The words of her mother rung in her head then, and she wished the woman were there to listen to their confirmation. She should have come long before, and yet her own wits had not flowed in tandem with hers for too many years.

Her jaw tense, Amara stood straight before the man, and gave him a look of ardent disdain. “You will never question my efforts again,” she spoke, voice heavy. “I sought him in silence. Him and the woman who took him from me. I was going to be merciful. I knew her pain, just as well as she knew mine. But I kept my head on my shoulders, made the right decision at the right time. My eyes and ears never stopped looking for my son.”

The thousands of people in the capital had concealed them far too well. She had felt helpless, weak, numb from the pain of loss, as though the Gods had abandoned her then. “I never meant to slaughter,” she continued, taking a step around the stained pine table. “I was meant to observe and take action against the soulless bastard who wanted my son dead. My mother told me, and I did not hesitate to do what had to be done for my Kingdom.”

She had been ready to take her enemies down, one by one, and she had been given the power to rid the world of their filth after the incident. She hoped, at least, for she could not know what conspirators were still whispering behind her back.

“He is my son, Victor. And I am your Queen... A merciful Queen, who is willing to forgive your sons if you give him back to me, where he belongs.” She would keep him in her home, at her bosom, as Roddrick’s brother, and the world could never know, it could never doubt. “I will give Hector a place in my castle, and let your eldest keep his lordship of the North. There is no need for wars.”
 
Victor stood still, his fists clenched listening to the woman speak that she was ‘trying’. To him, her words were weak. All he heard was that she didn’t intend for things to go the way they did. His head shook a moment, “He stays here. He belongs here.” Victor’s voice was unmoving, Ethon would not be taken from the North by force, that was not an option.

His fist unclenched, pressing to the desk before him, “You are right,” He spoke calmly. “There is no need for wars. Not between the North and the South. Not with a marriage coming to us from the East and you from the West. But there is a war coming, I do not care if your husband doesn’t believe me.” Victor’s tone was clear. His stance regarding Ethon was clear, she was foolish and her negligence cost her. “Do not start a war over a boy who has never known you. There is a greater beast coming Amara, and they will not stop at the North. We need help. And without help they will wipe us out and move towards the capital.” Victor’s voice did waver for a moment, he needed her to believe him.

“Talk to Roddrick, and by the gods, talk to Corban.” Victor let out a deep breath. “Perhaps if imminent death weren’t staring the North in the face, Ethon would be able to leave the place he calls home to visit a home he never truly got to know.”

Victor moved forward yet again, likely too close to the Queen for comfort. “Don’t be foolish, Amara. You have your wits about you. Do not make this more complicated than it needs to be.” Victor held his tongue despite having much more to say. “The night is encroaching. I’m sure the King misses his wife.” He spoke stepping back.

*

Hector sat at his desk in the library chamber that would soon become Mathys’. The boy having gone to be in the late hours of the night. After walking the boy back to his chambers he told one of the guards to have one seek him out the moment Conrad’s party and Ethon returned. He had to know if the boys vision was correct… if it was…

His hand scribbled over the journal he wrote in so often. His thoughts often jumbled for pages before becoming collected by the end of his entries. Finally after finishing another page he leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. His candle was melted nearly down to the brim, meaning the night must’ve been well into the morning by now. Rubbing his face, now worried for his brother and Ethon.

With each pending thought he was almost sure the girl was dead. Or almost dead. Gods, he didn’t even ask Conrad the time-frame. He should have been keeping better records. His head fell pressing to the desk, letting out a deep groan of frustration, for the first time thankful there were no windows in his room. If he saw any sunlight he might knock his desk over.

*

Ethon slept surprisingly well for the ride he had to the inn. She was with him, her body curled with his, and her words sweet. Calling White Hall her home and mentioning she wanted him by her side. And so when he woke in the morning he tried his best not to wake her as he moved from bed. He laid her now dried clothes and coats on the edge of the bed for her as he dressed himself.

Bending he picked up one more log to add to the fire that was almost out. He’d give her an extra few moments of sleep before they truly had to leave.

Conrad’s head poked through the door with a slight knock, he looked over Ethon a moment, and then glanced to Aiyda in bed. “Wake her, we leave as soon as you lot are outside,” Conrads usual strong and deep voice was quite hoarse and scratched. Ethon knew better to suggest another day at the inn, so he just nodded.

When Conrad had left Ethon leaned over the bed and gently shook Aiyda’s arm, “Hey, wake up,” he whispered gently. “Come get dressed and eat a little something. We’ll leave as soon as you are ready.” He muttered.

He decided to warm up some water over a pot for her while she was dressing, “I think you should drink some of this, I know it won’t be too pleasant, but I think it will help soothe the throat a little.” Ethon shrugged, “If you sound anything like Conrad does,” Ethon made a bit of a face. “Soon as we’re home we’ll get you warm and bundled and all the soup White Hall can handle.”
 
Amara listened, akin to a gloomy sky waiting to strike. She did not like what she was hearing, yet Victor’s words passed by her ears as though they were a childish joke. He had not defied her before, nobody truly had, aside from Roddrick and Corban, and even then, her gaze had earned at least a droplet of reticence.

Now, the Lord of White Hall stood still, ready to take the blow her own silence was threatening. Amara pressed her lips for a moment, the muscles in her neck and jaw tensing. She did not care for the mythical war Victor seemed to be so insistent on. She did not care for the girl who had lost her family, for she had lost her own, and none had mourned for her own pain, yet she decide to indulge him with the same frigid bitterness.

“If a doom is coming upon us, then I wish to bear it with my true son in my arms,” she spoke, and her gaze caught fire for a second, watching him come closer. “It is true that I have not been by his side all those years... But now I have him close, and I do not intend to lose him again. You would surely understand. You have your own sons, Victor, all three yours. Ethon does not belong to you.”

She waited, calculating, staring, with a fury she manifested into patience and a thin string of peace. His subdued threats did not move her, but only sent her blood boiling as she waited for her turn to throw the sharp arrows back. “We will be leaving for the Capital before the wedding,” she concluded, “and your son, Hector, will be coming along, as a dutiful diplomat of the North... You have time to make your decison, and to let Ethon make his own. He will be spoken to, and he will decide whether he wants to stay, or live his life in the Capital, with his mother, where he belongs.”

She let out a breath and turned on her heels, towards the door. “South or North... Peace or bloodshed. One way, I will have my son, Victor. Then, we can speak of myths and legends.” With that, the Queen disappeared through the archway, the soft floral scent of her hair floating behind like a stormy cloud.

*

Warmth had not left her through the night, and now, as she woke up, the fire was still burning in the hearth, although Ethon’s heat had gone away, leaving the spot next to her on the bed disheveled and vacant. Aiyda opened her eyes, glazed and stingy, and scoured through the room with a languished slowliness.

It was only when he spoke that each feeling and sensation in her body came to life. She was hungry, and the exhaustion in her bones had turned to pain. With slow movements, Aiyda managed to roll on the side of the bed and sit up, straightening her back with a soft crackle. “He was here?” she whispered in a hoarse voice that took even her by surprise. She coughed dryly and moved her hands to her face. “Everything hurts... I wonder how he feels.”

Her hunting clothes were warm and ready to be thrown on, which meant it had been quite a bit since Ethon woke up that morning. She wanted to thank him, but decided against tensing her vocal chords again, and began slipping into the thicker garments fit for the cold winter outside. The inn, however, felt like a peaceful heaven, and the thought of staying another night did not sound so bad. Despite that, she and Conrad alike needed to be cared after by a healer.

The old floor creaked beneath her feet as she drew closer to Ethon and let her head rest on his shoulder. Her throat hurt, burnt, sore as it was, and the warm water seemed to do little to take away from that pain. “I could use some soup,” Aiyda murmured against the warm tin, “and some chamomile tea... Some ale... Some good news that I am not dying.” She chuckled, and immediately let out a heavy cough in her palm. “That bear didn’t go down without a fight, eh?”

With the water finished, she turned her attention to the tray of food on the table. As loud as her stomach was being, she did not feel like swallowing anything right then. She took a piece of bread between her fingers, broke it apart around a slice of cheese and popped it into her mouth. At the taste of it, her gut growled yet again, but her throat seemed to oppose anything solid. Eventually, she gulped, and took one last sip of the warm water before turning to Ethon.

“I will eat at home,” she promised, her cheeks now red from the effort. “I need to see how Conrad is... Before we leave. He left in a hurry last night, I...” She coughed yet again, and wiped her nose with the side of her sleeve. “I hope the both of us will feel better before the wedding feast. A nice surprise for when we come home, all of us.”
 
Victor’s posture did not change as he listened to the woman. He could not blame her for the love she still bore for a boy she did not even know. For had it been Lyram, Hector or Conrad, Caterina would have spoken the same way. Although Caterina did not share the same love for Ethon as she did her own sons, Lord Victor could not say the same.

Victor’s decision was final, and she was correct, Ethon was free to choose how he pleased. But if the boy were to make a decision, it must be educated one. And so as Amara left his chambers, it was decided. It was time to tell Ethon of how he came to be a patron of the North.

*

Ethon failed to see the humor in her comments, but he nodded, forcing a smile as she promised him she would eat later. “You will feel better. We’ll make sure of it. A northern wedding is an exciting ceremony, at least after the ceremony anyway,” Ethon let out a laugh now. “Never been to one at White Hall, but based on the others, this will be exciting.” He promised her.

When the pair did finally emerge outside, Conrad had both of their horses already prepped and ready to go, he did not want to waste anymore time. Although, as they left the inn, Conrad’s eyes drew straight to Aiyda, she looked how he felt. Conrad straightened his back and approached the pair.

Ethon gave Conrad a nod before leaving Aiyda’s side, going to grab Krull for her and his own horse. Conrad cleared his throat before speaking, “How are you feeling?” He asked her. The clearing of his throat made his voice appear much stronger than it had that morning, but the end of his sentence still faltered.

It was just her within earshot, and he glanced around once more to make sure the others weren’t listening. “Could you eat anything?” He asked quietly, “I couldn't get anything down, not even ale.” He muttered. He nodded as Ethon was now leading the horses towards them. “Our maester is quite good. He’ll know how to help when we arrive home. Just, until then, try to keep warm.” He spoke taking the reigns of his horse before mounting.

*

It was a quiet morning in White Hall. Victor was not present for breakfast, and Hector showed up, having escorted and led the boy, Mathys, to breakfast. Caterina had joined them, and her eyes laid upon her eldest son. She had been quite worried when news that the party sent to Northcross could be in danger. Conrad was her baby, but with this new wedding so close she was allowed little time to worry without certainties.

She knew it was not Lyram’s place to take up much responsibility for the wedding, but she did wish her son would show a bit more interest. “They’re setting up the Great Hall today, or at least some of it. I wanted to see what it would look like, so I can make changes if needed.” Caterina spoke to him. “I’d like you to come.” She told him.

Hector and Mathys having finally sat and Hector passing food to the kid. He knew the boy was only thirteen, but he needed to bulk up. Good Northern boy, son of a Hunter, needed more meat on his bones. “Your future lady will likely be pleased if you have a say in the arrangements,” Hector shrugged.
 
Excitement was not exactly in her mind right then, unless one could call the fervent desperation to get to home so. Aiyda was only able to produce a weak smirk from the corner of her lips at Ethon’s statement, before stepping away from his side and following him out the door. Her fingers moved quickly to tie the buttons of her thick hunting coat, in the hopes that it would at least shield her burning skin from the cold of the morning.

The brightness scourged her eyes at first, contrasting with the soft darkness inside the inn chambers, but she adjusted to it rather quickly. Her gaze soon fell on the tallest and broadest shape standing in their vicinity, whom she recognized to be Conrad merely by the shape and heavy stride.

She knew Ethon would leave them for a moment, but his sudden departure was still not a welcome event. The loss of warmth struck her like a hammer, her bones buzzing, yet surprisingly soon replaced by Conrad’s soft breath on her forehead. He did not look well – pale, lost, languished -, but by some Godsent power, he was standing just as tall as before the bearly happenstance.

“Never been better,” Aiyda answered softly, and her cheeks lit up with a faint pink. “You do look better than you sound... Better than you feel, I suppose.” She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I could not eat. I took a bite, only to appease Ethon, but I couldn’t-...”

Krull whined with petulance and tapped its hooves against the frozen ground. They were all eager to leave, all but Ethon, who seemed to wish to get as far away from the wedding organization party as possible. “I thought I would leave with a much heavier heart than I did,” she continued then, her eyes now lost, following the movement of Krull’s mane in the wind. “I thought I would cry, break down again. Somehow, I did not, and I do feel guilty. I do miss them, my family, my home. But I can’t muster those feelings any longer.”

Another neigh disturbed the thoughtful silence, and Aiyda broke herself away from Conrad to mount the impatient steed. Although it hurt less to whisper, she decided to remain silent for the rest of the way home. Ride fast, and sure. Krull and the rest would have enough time to catch their breaths when they reached the White Hall stables.

*

The Saeberian boy was silent. Awfully so. Lyram was tempted to throw a piece of ham at him, it only to earn a grunt and perhaps revert his mother’s attention to him, but as warden of the North, he kept his poise. Instead, he took a vengeful bite out of the boar sausage – what had the poor beast done to deserve such? – and gently pushed his plate aside with the tips of his fingers. He took his time chewing, to gather his thoughts for a proper answer, and only when he swallowed the large bite, he dared look his mother in the eye.

“Of course, mother,” her eldest spoke obediently. His chest was burning and his tongue was ticklish. He wanted to scratch it with a well chiseled ‘no’. “Although I would not know... as a man... how to gracefully decorate for an evening ceremony as you would,” he managed instead. “I am sure my wife would not be particularly impressed by my... simplicity in thought. As you’ve described her, she’s rather pretentious. Much like the rest of the East.”

“The more you ride South-East, the prettier things get,” Mathys murmured in his loaf of bread. “Sculptures... Woodwork. Dresses. Eldstead is where my sister and I learned to read. And where our father got Aiyda’s bow made.”

“Ah, yes,” Lyram nodded, “a piece of art. It was a good thing that you found it.” He offered the boy a small smile, thankful for having managed to change the subject. Not that weapons preoccupied him much right then, but it was better than having to think about which fabrics to drape from the ceiling arcs.

Mathys took a bite out of the piece of bread and chewed on it hungrily. “They said it’s enchanted,” he mumbled, “that only its owner can truly wield it. And since it was made for her, father never let me sh-“. He stopped abruptly, his cheeks full of bread and ham, as his eyes met Lyram’s own chastising gaze. The boy shot a glance to the Lady, then back to his plate, and quickly gulped the bite while wiping his mouth. “Shoot it,” he added, and laid back in his chair. “’’M sorry. My mother did teach me well.”
 
Caterina’s lips stayed turned down at Lyram‘s answer. Had the boy not been she would have spoken to her son about the mere fact in attending the decorations meant something. “As a man, you shall participate when your wife is not present.” Caterina knew the girl would have thoughts on how the wedding looked. She might not voice it, but every little
Girl dreamed of her wedding, and this poor girl was forced to a Cold and dark one in a land she had never known, with a man whom did not even court her.

Caterina looked towards the younger boy now, nodding some as he spoke that the Eastern lands, especially the warmer ones were prettier.

The boy continued on his story about his sisters bow, Caterina remembered when her boys were sprite and curious of the world. Although her boys were not tainted with loss like this poor boy was.

As the boy got more into his story he seemed to forget the present guests. Although Caterina just smiled at him, an endearing boy, “I’m sure she did. Don’t worry on it, I’ve heard far worse.” She smiled glancing to her own sons.

Hector rolled his eyes at his mothers comment, most of the comments were likely from Conrad, although the truly ruthless ones always came from him. Mathys, however, was incredibly polite. Hector was just glad the kid was eating as he grew more at ease in telling his story.

“It is unfortunate I will not meet your bride to be.” Hector began. “Women from the East are as you said, quite particular and pretentious. It shall be comical to see what she makes of you.” Hector chuckled.

Now Caterina glared at her second eldest son. “All men are peculiar at first. Especially a life long partner. When I came, your father much like you all, it took time for me to grow used to him. But I did.”

Hector took a bite of his food, shaking his head some, he was no fan of marriage. He knew eventually he would likely gain a wife. Some sort of daughter of a trade partner or something. He figured if he had a choice he would take in a temptress, one who could help him gain information from others. Hector thought he was good at collecting information, but some of the shit men spat while fucking whores was baffling to him.

*

Hector sat back on his desk chair as his face was close to a book of runes, still trying to look for a more accurate description of the tune Ethon found at the site where the Hunters where killed. A harsh knock came to the door of his study.

“Lord Hector? I tried your chambers they were empty, My Lord?” The voice asked.

Hector grunted, “In.” He spoke not looking up.

“They’ve arrived. Just in.”

Hector stood quickly, not even bothering to grab an extra robe heading directly for the back entrance where he knew the group would be coming in from.

Upon moving outside, he saw a Monty and Brask taking the horses towards the stables, a task usually overtaken by Ethon. Conrad led the group now walking towards him. Ethon close to Aiyda, quite close. The closer Conrad became, the more grey and pale his brother appeared to look. He helped hold the door open as the lot moved inside the back way. “Conrad, what happened?”

Conrad could see Hector clearly, but the sight of his home left him faltering. He had maintained his strength throughout the ride, but the comfort of his home was allowing his body to relax, and quit on him. Conrad’s jaw was tight as they moved into the back of the castle. He pushed directly past Hector, ignoring his brothers questions. He grabbed the first hand maid he saw, it was Lehna and he let out a sigh. “Draw a warm bath, very warm. And build her a large fire. Ethon will probably Keep an eye on her, but you check too, okay?” He let the girl go and continued walking.

Hector glanced back to Ethon, who just nodded at him. And then Hector moved to follow Conrad who had just turned the corner. However as Hector turned the corner as well, he saw his brother leaned over, coughing and dry heaving. “You idiot, what happened?” Hector spoke wrapping his brothers arm around his shoulder and leading him towards his room.

He stopped a steward on the way, “Get Lyram, and the doctor, and my mother.” Hector told him.

Conrad seemed to muster a bit more strength, “Tell the doctor to visit the Saeberian girl first.” He told the steward who nodded and hurried off quickly. Conrad glanced to his brother, great duo for his support, “I just need sleep brother.” He spoke softly.

*

Ethon nodded to Hector, watching as Conrad moved away quickly, knowing his friend was holding it all in. Ethon glanced to Aiyda, and then he handed her off to Lehna to lead “I’m going to get some soup, make a nice big fire, comfiest wool blanket.” He assured her with a smile.
 
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