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Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

The knock on the door was partly expected, partly a surprise. Through the night, Aiyda had wondered if the dreadful situation they were in, the sight of the bloody meadow and Mathys’s arrival had gathered into a cluster Ethon would not be able to withstand. Northerner or not, a boy like him would not have been taught to take the stories of old told by grandmothers for granted. As selfish as she wished to be in that moment, she could do naught but understand.

And yet, when he did come, relief washed over Aiyda like freshly fallen snow over heated cheeks. She did not hesitate before opening the door, knowing from the very sound of knuckles against wood that it could only be him. With a short leap, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her head to his chest before her eyes could grace over him.

He sounded just as exhausted as he looked. His scent brought a certain comfort that was still on the verge of foreign to her, but something that was welcome, easily accepted after the previous day. As scared as she was, she was happy. Mathys was alive, which meant that the Gods had not forgotten her, not entirely.

Not yet, at least.

“There is much to be said,” she murmured in his shoulder. A part of her knew they would have to regain their poise soon, and act like proper diplomats before Lord Victor Sterling; the other was still a child, longing to stay in his arms for a bit longer. “Mathys will want to speak... I know it. I hope so. It’s like I both dread and want to hear what happened to my village after the attack.”

Aiyda lifted her eyes to look up to him and let out a quiet huff through her nose. “Did he say anything to you? Did he tell you if he was hurt? Did he cry?” Mathys was young, but he was strong. Their parents had taught them well, yet even a man had his weakness, and one would have to be mad to not be afraid of such nightmare come to life. “Did he look as mad as I looked when you brought me home from the woods?”

*

Oddly enough, Lyram was the last of his brothers to arrive for breakfast.

The gaze etched in Hector’s eyes weighed more than words. For a man of his skepticism, it was a wonder to see him share the same terror as those he had once considered mad. He noted the journal pushed to the side, crammed to the brim with loose pages ripped from old books and stained with black and blue ink. At least he knew then that he had not been the only one having lost that night to deep thinking.

“They’re not here yet,” he observed as he drew closer to his brothers. That day, he was wearing a black coat embellished with ermine, a subtle omen to Aiyda’s family and Northcross. “I suppose this will be a difficult breakfast to digest... Until we get to talk about what really matters.”

He looked over his shoulder, to the guards by the door, then back to Conrad and Hector. “Do you think father will want to make the Kilgours aware of this mess?” He pulled back a chair and took a seat by Conrad’s side. “Our only proof, truly, is a raided village. We will not be able to officially determine the cause unless we send men to ride there. We ought to alert the other villages, as well, we-“

He stopped himself before continuing, his mouth already growing dry from the alarmed and endless talking. It was a strange feeling, even for himself, and Lyram could not allow himself to lose his focus and calm. Not then, not before his brothers and even more, not before his father, if he wished to prove himself worthy of leading the North one day.
 
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Her arms came around his shoulders as the door closed and he let his arms wrap around her middle, feeling her head press to his chest. His chin leaned down and his nose pressed into her hair, wishing he could have slept next to her last night.

Her voice was strained, he could sense how nervous and worried she was about their meeting. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear what happened to her village. He doubt it would bring any sense of closure to anyone. When her head moved and she looked at him her questions came. Ethon shook his head slightly, “He was strong. Too calm.” Ethon spoke quietly, Ethon would have expected more panic from someone of his age, goes to show the strength and promise the young boy held.

Ethon then leaned his forehead to press gently against hers, his eyes closing and breathing in deeply, “He had the exact same look in his eyes.” Ethon breathed out, just barely above a whisper. He could still remember so clearly the fright and confusion in Aiyda’s face. She then truly did look like a wild being, and Mathys, although not as disheveled in the moment, still very similar though, had the same look.

One of his hands shifted on her back, moving slightly to graze her waist and his eyes opened, “We can eat here. Or the kitchens, we do not need to suffer in silence with the Lords.” Ethon told her. He knew exactly how the breakfast would go, clanking silverware on the plates, all to quiet, knowing everyone was thinking about the exact same thing. Yet no one would speak of the incident until the time came. “Doesn’t matter too much, just a few moments to ourselves before…” Ethons eyes glanced from hers.

*

“Do you even think they will come?” Hector asked blandly. Often times when Ethon was in any state of turmoil, whether it was with one of them, or of a personal matter, he would pertain to breakfast in the kitchens. “I don’t see the purpose of this breakfast anyway, like you said, difficult to even get anything down.” Hector spoke glancing to Conrad who hadn’t eaten anything either.

“We shouldn’t wain our strength.” Conrad spoke, now forcing himself to begin cutting into his food.

Hector was listening now to Lyram though, his words now taking some importance, still mixed with worry. “We what?” Hector nearly snapped. He took a long hard breath relaxing himself a moment, “Father likes to be sure. I don’t know if we will ever be sure on this matter. Father should inform the Kilgours, but I don’t know if he will.” Hector frowned. His father was just, but he always ruled by the facts. And Ethon’s word on the symbols at the site? Why had the fool not shown anyone else? Hector believed Ethon, but would Victor? And the runes? Based on the runes, the language of the markings was at least thousands of years old.

Conrad however was frowning, his internal frustration getting the best of him. Exposing men to scout could pose as helpful but also dangerous. If they were attacked, they’d be losing good men. What if it came down to needing a defense on White Hall? They would need all the man power they could get. “We need to hear what the boy has to say. I know we want to think about it all-” Conrad cut himself off, even he didn’t know where to go. He knew today would bring some answers, but not nearly all the answers they wanted. And certainly not any answers they needed. “We must alert other villages. And potentially offer them shelter here as well.” Conrad’s tone was more quiet, knowing this might cause controversy with his brothers, but he thought it well.
 
Aiyda knew she did not have to worry about Mathys in Ehon’s care. White Hall had been kind to her, soothing a fragment of her pained heart, and she hoped it would do the same to her brother for the few moments of repose he was allowed before discussions began.

She felt Ethon’s forehead press against hers and she let out a soft sigh through her nose. “I know he is grateful. Not only for me being alive, but for your understanding. He was not met with the same reasoning back home when he brought mention of...” The Wild Hunt. He had been the only one truly showing interest in the legend, as though he genuinely believed it would happen again, just like in the stories of old.

Eventually, Aiyda found the strength to break away from Ethon, but left her hands resting against his chest. “We cannot hide from our duties forever. You know this better than I do. I have to be there with the Lords if I wish to be taken seriously and not regarded as a child who only listens when the others agree to obey.”

The room felt almost like home, and she did wish to stay with him there. Stay and never leave, loiter around the fire and talk about their childhoods. “Come. I know Mathys will want to meet the Lords. He had always admired Lord Victor Sterling’s sons.” He raved about them endlessly, and Aiyda could do naught but listen and pretend to care about some Lords who lived a life far better than her own.

She moved away from him and took a step towards the door. She felt her cheeks burning slightly, although she could not pinpoint the reason why her blood was boiling so fervently. Fear. Anticipation. Relief. Somehow, Ethon’s presence seemed to stir all of them within her at once.

*

The tension in the room was undeniable. Lyram could not push himself to gather some of his poise back, not after what he had seen and heard the night before. Hector’s apparent aggitation did not help either; their father’s absence often seemed to make things more difficult for the three boys playing manhood.

His seat was cold, and so was his food. Perhaps the servants had been to exhausted from gossip and chatter through the night to bother to do their jobs in the morning. “We cannot house the entirety of the North in White Hall,” he spoke as he picked at some meat on his plate. “Not even a quarter. Perhaps only the far Northern villages, but then the other half would feel wronged.”

Frankly, he was unsure what he would even write on the letter to those villages. Would he mention the Wild Hunt? Would he tell them of a rogue raid instead, to ease some of the peril? Crewing on his piece of ham, Lyram wondered if it was even worth trying to fight something they did not understand.

His gaze fell yet again on the journal by Hector’s side, and he made an effort to swallow prematurely. “What were you looking at?” he asked, gesturing towards the stack. “Ethon visited you last night. A servant told me. I would have thought whatever concerns you had, the two of you would have shared with us first.”
 
Ethon let his eyes open, looking down at her as she pulled away slightly, her hands resting on his chest as she reasoned they should attend breakfast. “Suppose hiding would be too easy.” He murmured. He wondered what the Sterlings would make of his opinions on the matter. Victor always made sure Ethon’s opinion was heard and valued, as if it truly meant something.

She moved towards the door and Ethon sighed slightly before following her out the door and towards her brothers room. He wondered what the boy thought of the Lords previously, in the land he grew up in. Ethon never thought about the King or Prince in the Capitol from what he could recall. And well here, he was with them all the time. The Lords were his friends when they were young, if their titles had not been so high, he would have called them brothers. He thought of them so.

*

Conrad shot a look at Lyram as he spoke they couldn’t even house a quarter. Conrad didn’t care about space. He already knew they didn’t have enough, and if the Hunt was real, they’d need to start collecting supplies, they would never be able to get enough rations for just White Hall, nevermind everyone, but people were going to die if they continued like this. People already were dying.

Hector frowned deeply as Lyram addressed him, looking to his journal and papers of notes. A servant told him? What a rat. Whoever it was. Hector wondered if it was the servant who was in his chambers… it had to have been right? Who else was around? What a prick, tattling to Lyram.

“Ethon did not know what he found. I suggested to him last night he should have told you what he found. I dunno why he did not. I did research based on what he told me, and I will present my findings to you at our little meeting.” Hector spoke matter of factly. “I was going to tell you all everything all at once, with father.” Hectors tone was clear, why did Lyram think he should know all facts first.

Hector’s hand moved over his journal again, opening his mouth, glaring at Lyram, but Conrad spoke now as the chambers to the room had opened, three guests joining them. Conrad stood, “Good morning,” He spoke bowing his head slightly. Hector side glanced to Conrad, as because of Aiyda’s title, and the others it was not necessary he stand.

Hector motioned for them all, “Please sit.” His eyes glancing to his brother to dare him to ask Ethon now. Put him on the spot, Hector was not at fault for Ethon’s lack of telling them information, and in the moment he had trusted Hector. He wanted his brother to question Ethon instead of him, to test the boy, but also because Lyram had always held a certain soft spot for him. He wondered if Lyram would even discuss the matter before Aiyda’s younger brother. It should be allowed, since the boy would be present for their meeting.
 
Mathys’s chamber was just across her own on the same hallway. Aiyda had been thankful for the narrow distance between them through the night; the thought that she was there, close to his side, had offered the small speck of solace she had needed to endure the frigid darkness in the absence of the warmth she had gotten used to over the past couple of days.

She offered Ethon a gentle smile before knocking on the door. Her other had came to graze over his own, as though to reassure him in that time of tension, and soon enough, a quiet creak announced Mathys’s appearance from behind the wooden frame.
The boy was pale, his eyes dark and sunken in from the exhaustion, but the tint of crimson on his lips told her he had at the very least eaten and drank well the night before. He seemed almost surprised when he saw her, or perhaps she had read him wrong - perhaps he was surprised to see the two of them together before his room that morning.

“The Lords are gathering,” Aiyda said, forcing a warm simper, but was only met with a nod of his head.
“I know. And then... The council, I suppose.” The news he had brought had not been positive in any sense, and he was not particularly enthusiastic about replaying what he had seen in his head, but he knew the effort was minimal in comparison to the danger he threatened. “I am not hungry, but...”

“But you ought to come,” Aiyda completed his sentence. “You are a key piece in this harrowing thing. They need your help more than anything.” Their mother had been right all along: Mathys had been blessed by the Gods with the gift of knowing, of seeing beyond what the others could see. They could not leave him out of the equation if they wished to at the very least prevent some of the death storm from taking over the entire North as it had over their village.

In addition, he was already dressed for the part. Aiyda was content with seeing him like that, donning the embellishments of a little Lord, as though he were more than just a well-circumstanced peasant. Mathys followed them without a protest and closed the door slowly behind him. His gaze flickered to Ethon for a moment, before he set himself behind the two and followed them in silence to the dining hall.



The door was opened almost solemnly before them, and as they stepped inside, one of the Lords rose from his seat and offered them a nod of acknowledgement. Aiyda noted the slight confusion etched on Lyram’s face at the gesture, but the man only lifted his hand to invite them to take a seat at their table.

“Will Lord Victor be breaking the fast with us?” Aiyda murmured in Ethon’s ear. Mathys was the first to claim his seat, across from the future lord of White Hall, followed by Aiyda who sat by Conrad, leaving an empty seat for Ethon by her side.

The view was strange. The room seemed cold, far colder than it had before, and she could almost feel the weight atop the lords’ shoulders on her own. She noted the journal carefully set in front of Hector, filled to the brim with stray pieces of parchment ripped from different books, and saw Lyram’s expression falter ever so slightly as it moved from the two of them to the piece of written information.

“We have not come here to discuss,” Lyram spoke, gesturing towards the plates. “I know what you are all waiting for. But our minds work their best on a full stomach, and our guest here must be famished from such a long journey.” He offered Mathys a smile, and the boy answered with another, weaker, but partially genuine.

“Although,” he added to Ethon then, a slight spike in his tone, “it has come to my attention that we might have more information than we knew. And I am more than eager to let you and Hector speak before our father. After the Saeberian boy speaks first, of course.”
 
Ethon shook his head very slightly to Aiyda’s question. “No. He rarely eats breakfast with us. Lady Sterling too. Especially after a night like last night. Victor will be trying to surmise his own plans to present to us.” Ethon informed her. Victor would make plans with the information he had, and adjust his plans based on what his sons and the others would have to say.

Ethon sat beside her and he noticed the elevated tension in the room. He too saw Hector’s journal, and also Lyram’s eyes to it. He knew Hector had been doing research, which made him grateful. But when Lyram’s words came Ethon tensed just slightly. It was Hector who came to his defense, which never happened.

“Leave him be.” Hector muttered. “We will speak before father like you said, no need to bring it up now. Let’s eat.” Hector’s tone was low.

Ethon knew Hector often overstepped his boundaries when addressing Lyram in tense situations. But he’d never been so direct like he was being now, Ethon’s eyes glanced to Lyram wondering if he were going to reprimand Hector, or give him the look. Hector was smart, and usually knew when to bite his tongue, but he looked ready to spar in a game of wit at the moment, and Ethon let out a sigh of relief when Conrad interrupted, allowing the others to continue their meal.

Conrad cleared his throat, hoping it would gage his brothers attention. “The festival is coming. I know we have much more important matters to focus on. But I figured a lighter conversation was in order. Perhaps you can share with us some of the solstice traditions in Northcross. I read somewhere every northern territory has its own customs as well as usual.” He inputted, attempting to appear more cheery than he was.

“Here it was always just the fire and the stones, you know, building a fire for yourself, of a family, put the stones on them. Then checking the next day. One of the old kitchen women told me if the stone was missing that was a death omen.” He shrugged.

“Death omens, how cheery.” Hector commented.

Conrad huffed again, “Well nothing can be as cheery as the Spring festival, Fire Night, the Great Rite is more exciting than anything else.” Conrad couldn’t help the slight smirk he let out.

“What is the Great Rite?” Ethon asked. Conrad smirked and Hector rolled his eyes. Ethon knew the Festival, he’d participated many times, but other than dancing and the declaration and prayers of bountiful farming, he didn’t know what else they were talking about.

“In old tales, it was said the Lord of each territory must drink the blood of Nantosuelta,” Hector spoke, speaking one of the Northern goddesses names. She was the goddess of fire, nature, fertility and earthly aspects. “They said with her powerful magic in their bodies they must find a maiden and release their magic to spread, and somehow that will allow the lands to prosper and the crops to grow.” Hector now looked at Conrad, “I think we all know why Conrad enjoys this festival so much.”

At that note Ethon let out a small chuckle while he shook his head. But now his gaze turned more to Aiyda and Mathys, “I too would like to know some of the Northcross customs that differ from White Hall. Here everything is very...formal.” Ethon decided. He wasn’t sure formal was the right word, sacred and uptight.
 
It was unusual for Hector to take Ethon’s side in such circumstances, but by that point, Lyram had come to see him as a mediator. That morning, it seemed like he had let his emotions get the best out of him in all senses, a change he had not been taught to welcome with a smile on his face in times like those, or frankly, at any given time.

Strangely enough, he did not find himself too affected after the change of subject. Talking about religious rites did little to ease the tension they were all feeling, some more than others, but he was thankful for the break from pretending he had control of the situation. At least for a moment, he could stand back and listen, fill his stomach so it did not growl louder than his thoughts and let his brothers do the talking.

A slight simper popped at the corner of Aiyda’s mouth, slightly sour, but a smile nonetheless. She had always wanted to witness the Spring Festivals in White Hall, done as they should be, cheered on as they should be. The far North had its perks, but it always seemed like the parties were the most fevered in larger inns and towns.

“Our festivals begin in winter,” the girl explained. She began cutting in her plate in a futile attempt to encourage her little brother to eat as well. “Preparations start as soon as the Hunt returns. The more game we bring along, the more meat and fur, the more plenteous our spring will be.” Until then, she and Mathys had only had the chance to witness the return of the hunters and help with their preparations, always longing for the feeling of pure joy she always saw etched on her father’s face the day he was greeted into Northcross with mead and singing.

Glory. That was what she had desired. Hunting itself was a part of her life, yet the glory of it success was what she had been made for, what her father had made her for.

“We drink and dance to thank the Gods, for a whole night,” she added. “We even made our own dresses, rimmed with fur, and braided our hair with tree tinder. The one inn of Northcross is brimming until crack of dawn, sometimes well past. My friends and I begged our parents to stay until later...”

As she took another bite of her food, it was Mathys who chimed in. “...Like the boys did,” he completed, and he himself bit into a slice of bread. “Our father always let me stay with him, drink with him. But it was no fun when his eyes were watching over you and our mother.”

Aiyda shook her head. “But no Great Rite that we know of,” she said, and turned her gaze to Conrad then. He was a tall man, well built, jaw chiseled and eyes dark and sultry. “I would not be surprised if you made it up, my Lord.” She had no doubt that the woman had an easy time believing him. “From what I know, Ethon has been raised here. Why else would he not know of such enjoyable custom?”

Nothing more than a tease, but deep inside, Aiyda knew that Ethon had likely been kept from many things reserved solely for the Lords and their offspring. Despite the way he was treated there, he was not quite on the same level with the Sterling brothers in the eyes of White Hall, although close in the eyes of Lord Victor. She had seen it. Somehow, she knew.
 
Ethon smiled slightly as Aiyda recalled their festivals, she clearly remembered them well and was happy in attendance. He couldn’t remember any Northern festival, or any occasion here where he didn't feel like a stranger. Even now, when many disregarded him at the events, as he was just apart of the members of White Hall now, he still was an outsider in their eyes.

Conrad nodded some, his lips curling just slightly at Aiyda’s comments. For a woman in such a presence she had little trouble speaking before them. And no more trouble calling him out, something he really hadn’t experienced before. Conrad had then opened his mouth to speak, but it was Hector who spoke instead. “Keen you are. To notice Ethon’s position, as well as my brother’s…” Hector paused, “Arrogance.” He decided to put while Conrad flared at the remark.

Ethon did not wish for another outburst between the Lords, they were just getting over last, and Conrad had done well distracting them. Ethon stood, “We should make our way to the council chambers.” He spoke, his tone serious. He did not the table might need a few more moments to eat, so he sat back done.

Hector however rose, picking up his notes, his eyes no longer daring Conrad to clap back at him, but now on Lyram. “See you in the chambers.” Hector spoke, then he nodded to their guests before exiting.

*

Victor himself had his own notes, going over castle plans with the maester as he awaited his sons. “No, no. Even so, we could never hold enough rations for that many people.” Victor spoke sourly. He began writing on another piece of parchment, a cough escaping from his mouth, and then he cleared his throat. “Do you think it time, Bodrin?” Victor’s voice was softer now. “I’d always hoped Conrad could experience a true battle before I gave him any official title in our army.” Victor glanced to the man beside him.

“My lord, Conrad will do well with the assistance of yourself and his brothers. But making a rash decision now…” Maester Bodrin added.

Victor nodded, “This is true, we do not know if we need any more commanders.” He agreed, the stress was evident in Victor’s face.

Bodrin cleared his throat, “What about the boy?”

“Which?” Victor asked, for there were two in question at the current moment, the one from Northcross, and Ethon.

“Both, I suppose my Lord.”

“I do not know. It is foolish to believe such prophecies, but we’ve always kept Ethon close in fear of it.” He muttered, “As for the Hunter's son,” Victor sighed. “Best I can do for him now is to hear what he has to say.” Victor sighed, again in distress.

Both of the men straightened when Hector entered the room. “Father, Bodrin.” Hector spoke and took a seat. Soon after the others followed, all taking their respective seats, Ethon pointing both Aiyda and her brother to their respective seats as well. Hector had out more parchment, for more notes. The Saeberian boy would be speaking first, they couldn’t discuss the runes until after.

Victor glanced around at everyone, his eyes then landed on Lyram. “I thank you son, for leading this expedition, in hand with Dame Saeberian. Your recounts will be noted, and held with respect, and taken into our accounts with caution.” Victor informed them, his eyes lingering over his oldest son for another moment.

Victor’s gaze, which was often harsh and stern, now looked to the Saeberian boy. His eyes crinkled at the sides, despite his frown. Ethon recognized the look, it was the same he had whenever Ethon asked a thought compelling question, a question none of the Sterling brothers had thought of yet.

“I apologize I was not awake to greet you Mathys.” Victor spoke calmly, “As Lord of White Hall I should have been more attentive upon your arrival. Now, please tell us any and all you can recount of your experience.” Victor held his hand out, motioning for Mathys to begin.
 
Aiyda was partly thankful when Ethon ended their little conversation. While otherwise she would have enjoyed the subdued banter, her mind was muddled with thoughts of home - or whatever was left of it still. She assumed she would hear it from Mathys soon, but that offered no solace. The news would not be something to cherish regardless, but rather as morbit as her own that she had brought from the woods that day.

Her legs lead her mindlessly through the narrow corridors behind Ethon. Mathys kept at her side, although more reluctant than before. He had lost the flame she had spotted in his eyes earlier and she prayed it would return when it was his time to speak before Lord Sterling. “Be loud and clear,” she quietly instructed as they paced. Her eyes were not on their path, but focused on the horizon, somewhere in the close distance but never truly there. “The Lords believe you. They believe us. We have allies here, East.”

Mathys’s jaw clenched, but he did not respond. Instead, he put on a mask of solemnity and prayed that they would begin at once, without overly formal and rather trivial introductions. He could only think back on how much time he had wasted ridin aimlessly until his mind had cleared enough to take the decision to ride for White Hall. Precious time, in which only the Gods knew how many more had died around the extension of the North.

The council chamber was almost entirely empty when they arrived. At the table stood a man several years older than Lord Lyram, close to Jasper’s age, and another whose skin had met the unforgiving blade of time. Mathys’s blue gaze grappled at their features, took them in in a scrutinizing manner, before he was forced to take his seat. He felt Aiyda by his side, but did not wish to look to her for comfort.



Not then, when she likely sought the same.

“The expedition has brought us here in dire circumstances,” Lord Lyram spoke, almost shaking Lyram out of his trance. “While the details are quite important, I believe Mathys Saeberian has more urgent news to deliver.” They were all on the same page thinking the problem of Northcross was far more ardent in that moment, if only for the fact that it was a continuation of the disaster they had already learned about days prior.

The boy pursed his lips tightly and cleared his throat. Soon, the blue gaze darkened, focused on a spot on the wood before him, gathering his thoughts. He did not wish to take Lord Victor’s absence the night before as lack of interest, but somewhere lurking deep within him kept him from holding back the offense. With a screech, he pulled back his chair so he could stand yet again, and he let his gaze hover over those gathered in the room.

“The attack happened at dusk,” the boy spoke. Aiyda’s eyes were on him, watchful, but he could tell she was distant. She took in his description and let her own brush paint the gruesome picture. “I was riding in the field where the woods meet the open land... When darkness took over. A deep, cold darkness, like the clouds had fallen from the sky.”

The tension in the room was too heavy for Mathys’s shoulders. He felt them lower, but quickly forced himself back straight, as regal as he could chisel himself before the Lords. “I heard screams, wails... Death. I wanted to go back for my mother, but my horse set off before I could think twice. I could taste blood... I could smell it, from so far away, the smell you would sense in a grave, sickening, stifling. Even from so far away, I could feel it like the winter wind.”

“You knew it before,” Aiyda interrupted. Her voice was husky, but calculated. She fiddled with her fingers, nervously scraping the surface of the wooden table. “My brother has seen the Wild Hunt in his dreams before. We did not pay any mind, my father and I... But our mother... Our mother always prayed for him. Burnt herbs and prayed to the Gods to clear his mind of evil dreams. I thought it was all to send him back to sleep.”

But it hadn’t been. Eyla had spoken truth, and they had been too blinded by their arroganc to believe her augury of danger was true. The hunting party had not encountered a danger greater than a bear in decades, in hundreds of years. They had been deaf to the warnings, blind to the signs... And Mathys had been to young and naïve to take the Gods’ gift as something genuine, real. In that moment, there was nothing she wished to do more than to go back and tell the others to never leave their homes.
 
Lord Victors eyes, like the others, were tight on the boy as he stood. Victor took him in, just a few years younger than his boys, and in no way should have he experienced what he did. But this boy had information, and Victor was to listen, and to adhere his judgement.

Victor listened patiently, the description was very vivid. His eyes flickered to his sons, only for a moment, when Mathys described the death, how it smelled and tasted like blood. Not one of them flinched, but he noted Conrad’s jaw set. His eyes now back on the youngest boy.

As the boy had finished, the girl interrupted, but Victor’s eyes did not stray from the boy. Bodrin leaned in, muttering into Victor’s ear now, and Victor nodded. “The Wild Hunt is a popular tale. Perhaps dreams are not so telling.” Victor spoke, as if trying not to bring caution. “I would like you to recount any dreams you can. Please step outside with Maeter Bodrin here. He will record any dreams you can recall, about the Hunt or not, and he and you will meet each morning as well.” Victor spoke.

Bodrin began towards the door, opening it for Mathys to follow. “Shouldn’t he hear about our-?” Ethon began.

“Time is not on our side. If the Wild Hunt is real, and it is here, and it has made movement from the Hunting location to Northcross….” Victor trailed off. “Bodrin will recount his dreams. We need all the information we can gather.” Victor spoke, his tone slightly sharper.

He watched as Bodrin led Mathys from the chamber and then he looked to his sons. He intended to ask Lyram first, and to have him speak on their journey, but he looked over Hector and his notes. “Seems as though you have much to share Hector,” He said and pointed to the journal, and then turning his hand over inviting him to speak.

Hector nodded, “Ethon came to me the night everyone returned.” He spoke clearly before his father. “He drew this for me.” Hector pulled the picture of the rune Ethon had drawn and set it before his father. “He did not tell anyone else that he had seen it.” Hector added. Victor now looked to Ethon, as if to explain, but Ethon had nothing for him.

“It was an overwhelming moment, I thought… in the moment it seemed like nothing. The ride back I had time to think.” Ethon’s tone wavered in strength.

Victor eyed him, and then his sons, wondering how Lyram and Conrad were taking the lack of information given to them. “I understand why you went to Hector, but withholding information like this,” Victor shook his head. “What do the runes mean?” He asked looking to Hector now.

“It is unclear, there are none that look the exact same in the books I’ve studies, but they show similarities to these,” Hector pulled his own rune drawings from the journal now, “see here, this inward triangle, these mean dawn, awakening. This next piece could relate to either this or that,” Hector spoke pointing out the two different runes that related, “The fork with that circle, devine, or demons. The line there, it relates to this rune, which means uncertainty, but without the fork it could mean victory. I don’t know what it means paired with this fork here. “ Hector told his father.

Victor seemed to be taking it all in, nodding slightly. Ethon stood now, “Lord Sterling, Hector asked me what Lord Lyram thought of the runes. I should have told the others, Hector knew-” He began but Victor held his hand up.

“We have no time for faults. Yes you should have shown the others. But it has passed, and this marking certainly means something.” Victor now looked to Hector, “Can you speculate how old these runes might be?” He asked.

Hector shook his head, “No, I assumed as old as these, so a thousand, maybe older. A more detailed recount of the rune would have been best.”

Victor nodded, writing more notes down himself, “We will be sending a group to Northcross. I’d like you to lead Conrad. I will need you two here as the King’s presence is still strong, you must uphold that end Hector, and you Lyram,” Victor’s eyes moved to his oldest son, “I need you here. We must make a plan.” The older man took a heavier breath now, “I want to know if you have a plan of action Lyram,” Victor asked him. He had expectations for Lyram over the others, and he would need a partner rather than a son in a time like this. He needed him to step up now more than ever. “I know we do not have as much information as we could hope for, and we will be searching for more. But we need to start taking strides, son.”
 
Aiyda’s eyes were locked on her brother; she remained silent, although she could feel tension rumbling within her like burning timber. She knew there was little information that the dreams could offer them, and even so, they could not rely on fabrications of the mind entirely. However, their sole sources of knowledge were old reports and tales, the latter which Mathys often relived in his dreams.

Lord Victor’s urgency was welcomed in that moment. Biting on her lip, Aiyda wondered if she would be forced to speak of the attack in the woods again, but such stories were no longer important. They ought to prepare themselves for the worst first, then sieve the details as they were required. She dug her nails into the crevices in the wood and listened as Lyram lifted his eyes to the others to address them.

“Forgive me, father,” the man spoke. His tone was grave, and his gaze carefully moved from one face within the room to the other. “The runes to bear significance, yes... If my brother, Hector, manages to decipher them with the help of maester Bodrin, it would certainly offer some guidance, but perhaps we have overlooked the big picture.” His eyes now focused on Aiyda. “If such... dark magic can reduce an entire group of skilled hunters to ashes in mere moments, then I doubt that dame Aiyda and her brother living was mere good fortune.”

The girl swallowed thickly. She had thought about it, many times, but now the thought seemed to take a fuller shape.

“A thief would never leave a mark behind him,” Lyram continued. “The Wild Hunt wanted to be seen. It wanted to be known. The two brothers survived by its mercy to tell the story, to warn us of what is to come, not to aid us in our defense, but to let us know we stand no chance against it.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, heavy. Lyram relaxed slightly in his seat, as though he had been cooking his speech for a while, whilst Aiyda only drew closer to the table. ‘To let us know we stand no chance against it.’ His voice rung loudly in her ears, and as much as she wished to ban its meaning from her mind, the truth was inevitable. Lyram was right. It was a threat.

The mention of another expedition, this time to Northcross, spiked Aiyda’s worry even more. “Him?” she murmured. “My Lord... I would like to join him if he is to investigate my home. And we will not go alone. The path he would be treading is a dangerous one, even after so long since the attack.”

She knew that Ethon would likely not be pleased with the idea. Perhaps he would come as well, yet again, although he might want to be with Lyram and Hector in times like those. Regardless, she could not fathom Conrad riding to Northcross on his own, especially not without her. Mathys would, certainly, stay – she could not allow him to come along after what he had seen.

Lyram’s jaw tensed slightly at the following comment. The matter of the royal visit did not seem as important then, but a pebble compared to a mountain. However, he knew that their father needed him there, and Hector would have to ride South regardless. “There will be questions,” he said then. “The King and his wife already know of our expedition into the woods. They will have to be informed, and I believe it is the last thing they should get their hands into after our... miscommunication.”

They wanted him, not Hector. The thought was already dry, and yet he had a feeling that the tension had not gone away. They could not secure the North through Hector unless his older brother died, and that was quite unlikely if the Wild Hunt did not catch him before an odd illness or old age did. “There is much we have to study, much we have to tend to before we can take any decisions,” he concluded. “We must inform other Northern houses and gather provisions... We must ensure that the villagers are safe... Whatever it takes, all we can do now is stand our ground and tread with rigid care.”
 
Victor frowned as Lyram seemed to think he saw the runes as a big picture. His mind did wander a moment as he looked over his sons. Lyram was just as arrogant as the others, although they all were in their own way. Lyram worried, but he was serious, and much too sure of his position. Hector thought himself more brilliant than the others, and seemed to flaunt that around. Conrad was full of himself, rightfully so on the battlefield, but anywhere else Victor was uncertain. Maybe he played his sons to their strengths too often?

Victor looked to Aiyda however at her request to join Conrad to Northcross and her request for more men. He was respectful, but he was addressing a plan, and looking for Lyram’s input, not hers. “I was intending to send a sufficient convey with my son.” Victor spoke, his lips tight. “You may go, as you know the land.” Victor spoke.

Ethon nw stood, “Lord Sterling, I would like to go as well-” He began, but Victor put his hand up.

“No.” He said. “You neglected to share information with the party. Besides, I want you to stay here. Lyram will need help, as will I. We need bodies here, who know the situation while we try to explain, and plan for what may come.” Victor informed Ethon.

“Father, I think Ethon-” Conrad attempted.

This time Victor was not so sweet in means to stop the others from interrupting. “I do not care what honor you share in making this threesome of a courtship fair between yourself, Ethon and dame Saeberian.” Victor spoke, his tone sharper. “The only reason she is accompanying you is she is our only rider with knowledge of the area. I personally believe she is too emotionally impacted to be a proper judge of the Hunt’s matter.” Victor informed them all.

It was rare that Victor spoke so impulsively, especially at someone who held such respect as Aiyda. Ethon could now understand the weight of the stress Victor must be holding.

Victor rubbed his forehead a moment, “Ethon, please escort Aiyda out.” He said. “Hector and Lyram, we must discuss what will first be said to our King,” Victor sighed, knowing the King would take some convincing with no evidence of the Hunt. “Conrad, gather four men to join you. Tomorrow morning son. Make sure you leave a sufficient number of generals here, in case anything was to happen while you are away.” Victor informed Conrad who nodded and left quickly.

Ethon led Aiyda from the hall. As soon as they were far enough from the hall, Ethon glanced to her, “Haven’t seen him that stressed since…” Ethon trailed off, he’d only seen Lord Sterling that stressed once before, when a convoy from the capital came, just after Victor brought him here to the North. He pressed his hand to hers a moment, “I wish I could come with you.” He spoke quietly. “I am also sorry Lord Sterling acted in such a way,” Ethon’s thumb moved gently over the back of her hand. “I have to go wait for Lyram to be finished, help him prep after. And you should see your brother, no doubt Bodrin has shaken him up some,” he pressed a smile. “Can I visit you tonight?” He asked quietly.
 
Lord Sterling’s tone was cold and steady, not allowing for any questions against his judgement. Aiyda watched as Lyram leaned back in his chair, jaw tense, clearly having lost some of the confidence in speaking. Conrad fell like a cub to his father’s feet, apparently shamed. The respect they carried for their parent in that moment was much greater than their ego and certainty in their solution.

Victor was an intelligent man. Perhaps Ethon’s love for her was obvious, but she was left surprised when learning that Conrad’s own advances had not been as subtle. They were not nearly as genuine and pure as Ethon’s intentions, but a father knew his sons, and the Lord of White Hall was no exception from the rule.

A sharp pain in her jaw let Aiyda know she had been gritting her teeth. The words hurt, but she did not have it within herself to deny them, partly because, deep inside, she believed they were true. Her view on the matter was biased and twisted by her loss. Instead, she chose a boiling silence and rose from her chair flustering. Her brown haze remained locked on the Lord for a moment, as she gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and she quickly saw herself out through the door behind Ethon.

Lyram watched as she disappeared, along with his younger brother, and soon returned his gaze to his father. Calculated as he often was, it proved to be much difficult to take it all in right then. He resorted to sieving his words before addressing him again, in an attempt to mediate the conflict. "Should you make a suggestion, we stand behind you, father." He allowed himself to speak for Hector as well, for he knew that his brother would not deny it. Not him, not then. All they could do was to listen.


Her steps rung loudly in the hushed corridor. She let Ethon pull her to the side, away from the ears of the servants eavesdropping on their conversation, and she let herself lean slightly against a wall like a soldier after a long, tenuous fight. Her mind was muddled, and Ethon’s attempt at easing her did little to wash away the worries and exasperation. She pulled her hand back rather harshly and let out a breath, lowering her head to avoid his longing gaze. “I do not want to cause you trouble,” she murmured. “Neither you, nor Conrad. I regret ever treating you the way I have been.”

She had felt the hope in Ethon’s kiss that one night, and in the way he always embraced her like it would be the last time. He worried, and she worried as well, although not as much for him as she did for herself. White Hall was the closest thing to home right then, and Mathys should be her only priority.

And yet, somehow, he wasn’t.

Aiyda leaped forward and pressed her head to Ethon’s chest. She could feel a lump forming in her throat, but she refused to allow it to take her voice. “Our past hunts us. The death of my family and friends... stays with me. The love Arah has for you stays with you. We’ve been meddling with these things for too long, involved them in places they don’t belong. I don’t want to cause you trouble,” she repeated.

Pulling away, she found the courage to look into his eyes again. “I want to be your friend, Ethon. I want to protect you and I want to let you protect me in return. But if this is causing so much harm, not only to you but to the both of us... I don’t want to be a part of it when war is knocking at our door.” She shook her head. “And I cannot stop thinking of the Queen. Of your past. Of what is happening, like reading a book I cannot comprehend. Much has changed... It leaves one with no time for care.”
 
Victor looked to his eldest son, respect played in his tone, but he was not sure Lyram agreed with him much on the notion of how he handled the situation. Victor thought of speaking on the subject, making a comment about how one day Lyram’s own sons would cause similar disputes with him, but he rejected the comment within himself.

“We will summon the King with his son and the Queen. The three of us will tell them together. You will recount your sightings.” Victor spoke to his sons. He thought another moment, “I would like you to leave the subject of the girl out of the discussion. You may recount a Hunter came which lead to our investigation. But keep her appearance in the story sparse.” His own voice wavered in the moment. This question was not an honorable one to ask of his sons. But he wasn’t protecting his sons in this moment, and certainly not Hector who would have to go live with them. He was trying to protect Ethon and his identity. He did not wish for the Queen to make any sort of connection to any prophecies.

He could see the questions in Hector’s eyes, why should they not recount the girl? And why should it matter? Victor needed to tell them not to mention Ethon either, his name would need to be sparse in the conversation as well, but perhaps his name wouldn’t come up. The only way he supposed it would be if the Queen asked. Would the Queen ask of a certain servant right before her husband, and her son?

“I pray they will see this as a cause to keep our alliance strong, to welcome Hector more openly, as you are needed here Lyram.” Victor spoke. “Bodrin also spoke Lyram… of potential allies in the East.” Lord Victor spoke calmly, his eyes now only on Lyram, knowing he would know what this meant.

Hector chuckled, “Suppose no more courting parties.”

Victor’s eyes were now on Hector, and they were dangerous, “Do not scoff at this situation. The days grow shorter, and the nights even colder each night. And this time I do not know how long winter will last. Our resources are low, and should you need to take a wife in the Capital you will do so without question.” Victor was on his last straw, these boys needed to become men. He had not wished they be rushed like this, but it was now or never. With the Wild Hunt having returned they need a country united more than ever, and this country is very well on it’s last end. If one wrong thing happens war will strike between the territories.

Victor looked back to Lyram, “I do not want you to worry about anything other than protecting the North right now. If we need to arrange for something else to happen, we will worry about that when it comes,” He glanced to Hector, shaking his head once more, now back to Lyram, “You are ready my son. And I am ready. This will take much more than strength. Politics is just as important in these matters as a strong army and defense is.”

*

Her hand pulled harshly and Ethon was startled by the jolt. Trouble. She didn’t want to cause him trouble. How the hell had she been treating him that had been causing him trouble? Her head pressed against his chest, and he let his hands move to her waist, holding her closer to him.

His jaw clenched when she brought up Arah, but when she spoke of his past and the Queen his hands tightened on her waist a moment, almost like pulling her even closer to him. His eyes that were once longing for hers now narrowed, and angry. “This isn’t hurting me.” He told her. “I do not give a shit about Arah’s love for me.” He clarified for her, his tone dangerously low. “As for the Queen and my past…” He trailed off trying to explain to her that he didn’t need that clouding her. “That is my past. Yes I want to understand it. Maybe one day I will, maybe I never will. But I understand with you.” He told her.

One of his hands pressed on the wall behind her back and he leaned his head in even closer to hers, “When I am with you, it is right. I felt it the other night, I feel it even now standing here with you. It’s not… I dunno if I would call it love. Time has not proven that, but it is in my gut and I know it is right.” He tried to explain to her. He wouldn’t let her pull away, he kept her trapped between his hands on the wall because she had to understand this. “You say you want me to protect you. Then don’t push me away.” he took a breath, “If you want me to leave you alone, tell me. But don’t cast me away because you’re afraid. And don’t tell me you’re sending me aside because it’s trouble for everyone else.” His jaw clenched further, and his fingers now pressed back on her waist. “Own up to it.” Ethon pushed from the wall now, moving to continue walking down the corridor.
 
Lyram was not surprised by his father’s protective attitude towards Ethon. He had always been so, and especially then, when both the King and Queen seemed to show certain interest in the boy. It was all a mystery to him, but one he could not bother himself with solving right then. His mind was already muddled, and for a better reason than deciphering behavioral riddles.

He lowered his head in agreement at his demand. He would have to speak on behalf of both Aiyda and Mathys as well, which meant he ought to prepare himself for possible questions. They could not appear painfully misinformed before the Kilgours, not when he was the one representing the beliefs of his family. The South already looked at the North with a grimace on their faces when it came to such legends.

Yet at the next statement, Lyram felt a slight unease wash over him. He had been reminded of a possible marriage ever since childhood, but the thought of it so close in the future was bothersome. ‘For the greater good,’ he thought to himself, and made an effort not to scoff at Hector’s comment. Neither of them were particularly enthusiastic about finding a wife, and even less hopeful of being conveniently assigned a beautiful one.

“I will honour your judgement, father,” the young Lord agreed. “Whatever it takes... If it benefits the North and our family, then I shall take a wife. And so will my brothers.” His gaze pierced Hector for a heated moment, before returning back to his father. “I have prepared myself for this moment for long enough. Although I do not look forward to what the future holds... The North was meant to be carried on the back of three Sterling sons.”

He regretted that Hector had to leave. He feared that Conrad would too, soon enough. One day, perhaps not even Ethon would want to share a roof with them, but search to find a wife and make his own life.

With a low breath, Lyram pressed his palms against the wooden table and pushed himself up on his feet. He felt heavy, uncomfortably restless, but made an effort to preserve his poise. “I... We will not disappoint, father. I promise you that. And if we do... Know that our minds were always for White Hall, for Armath. And for our families. Famine or not... War or not.”

*

Amber crashed against gold, and the more she stared into his eyes, the more her own stung and threatened to spill over her cheeks. His arms were around her, not touching, but keeping her caged and pressed to the wall behind her like a tap, forced to listen and understand his words. He was different - stronger, more determined - but touched by an amalgam of worry and an odd, crippling fear.

When he broke away, she was left frozen in her place, as though the wall had taken her for itself and nailed her into its stone. His steps were heavy against the ground as he moved away, almost menacing, although she knew the flames of his fire were not licking at her throat.

“Ethon,” she found the courage to call. Her voice was weak, almost cracking, and a part of her longed for the warmth of his welcoming embrace. “I... I wish you could come with us. With me. To Northcross.” A stupid statement. He knew. She hated herself for being unable to find something else to keep him from leaving as he had, but her mind was empty - because of him.

Aiyda lowered her head and, eventually, pulling herself away from the cold wall, she turned to make her own way through the corridor and towards Mathys’s room. She would wait for him there. He needed her in that moment, perhaps as much as she needed Ethon, but she did not dare to look back and voice her regret.

‘Own up to it.’
 
Ethon spent his morning preparing the horses for their journey. He brought forth Aiyda and Conrad’s horses, while the soldiers held their own horses. Aiyda had not come to visit him that night, not that he was expecting her to, but he supposed there could have been a chance. He brought the horses forth and Conrad was waiting for him.

“Good conditions for travel.” Conrad spoke to him with a nod as Ethon did not spot Aiyda anywhere in sight. “She’s in good hands.” Conrad said to Ethon as he noted where the kid was looking for.

Ethon felt his blood boil at that remark, but he said nothing, just let his jaw clench before handing Conrad the reigns of Aiyda’s horse. “They’re all prepped. You should leave as soon as the entire party is here.” He told him before heading off.

*

The next day had been slow. Victor had arranged for a meeting with the king after they set Conrad out to Northcross. Which is why Hector had shoved himself in the library reading up on anything else he could gather before their meeting.

As he was seated at the library he was brought a stack of small parchments, likely Ravens from the south. He rubbed his face, attempting to get through some before meeting with the king. The first two were diplomatic messages, one telling them about a journey south, and that some investors were looking for oar from their mountains and stronger woods and they could provide ample wheat.

The third letter he opened caused his brow to list slightly. A word from Lord Estermont, the largest noble house in the East. It seemed to be an answer to a letter his father must have already sent, to him agreeing to come North with his daughter and son. Hector knew what this meant, his daughter and Lyram would be made together. His son likely to arrange official terms of an alliance and treaty.

Hector stood quickly, knowing if he left now, he'd be a bit early to the meeting and he gathered on his way to Lyram’s chambers. He knocked on his brothers door harshly, “Ly!” he knocked, “Com’on you prat, open up!” He knocked again. When the door finally opened he shoved the letter into Lyram’s hand. “Father’s been making plans.” He said.

*

Victor sat with his wife, across from them in the same meeting hall as the previous day. Before him was the King and his son, and the Queen on the other side of her son. “I apologize for my sons tardiness. They are usually quite punctual.” He assured the King.

King Corban nodded, “Yes I do pray Hector will be punctual, we are not as tolerable to laggies down south.” Corban spoke, he could see the twitch in Sterling’s face, as if daring him to say more. Corban wanted to say more, first he was only giving him his second son, and next he had been ignoring them for the past two days and silly rumors about the Hunters seeings odd things were floating around. The demeanor in the North was harsh and full of secrets, Corban wanted nothing more than to leave.
 
“I hope the Gods let you return soon.”

Mathys’s voice was low, touched by a slight regret to which Aiyda could not pin a reason. She saw this expedition as something positive, if not for her own peace of mind then for cementing the danger of the Wild Hunt into the still doubtful minds of Northerners. Mathys, on the other hand, saw it as a waste of time, and she could not blame him for it. Days were passing, with no news of any other villages having been raided. It felt like a storm was about to crash upon them at any given moment.

“We will come back as soon as the deed is done,” his sister replied promptly. Lehna had been considerate enough to bring her the riding gear already ironed and tidy, which she had done quickly before Mathys had come to visit her. “I suppose Lord Conrad will wish to write a report there. Formal, you know... To send away to the other Houses and towns in the North.”

The scene felt far too familiar. It brought back the memory of them embraced in her room back home, mere moments before she had to leave to catch the beginning of the blessing ceremony. That day, as well as the other, she was wearing the coat her mother had made for her, only now secured around the waist with a belt embellished with the sigil of House Sterling. Garbed in so many layers to keep her warm, she barely resembled a woman; it was only the flaming red hair that gave it away, which she had let down to keep her warm.

Mathys followed her silently down the castle corridors and towards the stables, like a ghost roaming through the shadows. It was early in the morning, but a good portion of the castle seemed to have risen with the first rays of sunlight. The first face she recognized by the stables was Conrad’s, touched by the bite of sleep but still imposingly strong, as he always seemed. There was no sign of Ethon, only the trace of his passing-by as the horses had already been geared and prepared for the long journey.

Aiyda looked back to Mathys, whose gaze was now flickering from one face to the other. She gave her brother a soft smile and wrapped one arm around his shoulder in a half-embrace. “Listen to what the maester tells you, Mathys,” she said. “You can be very useful to us. But no man was born with knowledge.”

“You talk to me like I can’t think for myself,” he sighed back, but offered her a dry simper in return. “Now that you have your bow back... I am sure you can defend yourself. There is no need for me to worry.” A lie. There were many reasons, many dangers he could fret over, now that the Wild Hunt had risen again.

The girl broke away from his side and took a step towards Krull and Conrad’s own steed. “If we are ready, I am as well. I suppose your father won’t be coming to see us off.”


*


Plans.

The letter brought news from the East, and Lyram was the least enthusiastic about opening his letter.

Hector had stirred him awake rather early in the morning, but luckily enough, he had had the time to get himself dressed and presentable. With Conrad gone, there were very few opportunities in which he could allow himself to lean away from tedious formalities. The pressure was on his shoulders, and he could even feel it with Hector before him; he was being watched, one way or another, and the castle walls were always listening.

Lyram’s fingers worked rather slowly to open the envelope and straighten the stained parchment. He leaned against the door frame and stared at the ink for a few moments, before folding it and shoving it back into the envelope. His eyes, now a dark storm he barely contained, moved to his brother, who seemed to have read it beforehand.

“You’re glad?” It was less of a question and more of a statement. He wanted to make himself think that he was being lucid deeming such matters to be trivial as opposed to their greater concerns, but frankly, he feared the thought of an alliance being thrown on his shoulder like breeding cattle. “We’re both instruments, if that makes you feel any worse. You’re going to be shipped off to the Capital, while I stay here, rule White Hall in times of war... And pretend I care for a marriage I never approved.”

He lowered the letter back into Hector’s hand, like a cursed totem he wished to have nothing to do with, and straightened his back with the last droplet of pride he had left within him. “We should go. The Kilgours are waiting for us and I suppose we are already late.” It was not customary for him to arrive after everyone else, but the past days following their trip into the woods had proved the opposite.

The pace he maintained as he strode towards the council room was heavy and aggressive, almost in an attempt to lose Hector behind him. Meeting the King and Queen was the last thing he was prepared for right then, but he supposed they could not hold discussions regarding his brother without the future Lord of White Hall as witness. He glanced back behind him, cautiously, to make sure Hector was prepared before barging in like a cup bearer on a busy evening. With a gentle movement of his hand, he gestured for the guard to crack the door open for the two of them, and in the silence, the young Sterling wolf presented himself before the nobles and his father, followed closely by Hector in his immediate vicinity.

“Apologies for the wait,” he spoke. “My King. My Queen. Prince Roddrick.”
 
Lord Victor did not go to see them off, he had other plans. Conrad along with Aiyda and the other soldiers started for Northcross. Thankfully there was a more direct route to Northcross, still far, but it fell along the Northern route. The horses could run better on this road, and they knew it better. There was no apparent rush this time, they kept along the road, they’d make it before nightfall and make camp closer if not in Northcross if there were no buildings left to shelter in. Their pace could be a bit slower, saving the horses energy.

Conrad rode beside Aiyda and the others behind them. “I’m sorry for my father’s outburst yesterday.” He spoke in a low tone to her. “He is under much stress.. I think he’s upset that there is no cohesive source of knowledge, you know some, your brother knows some, Lyram a little. He is usually always the one with the utmost knowledge. It’s lucky you are a Hunter, we could be carrying on like nothing was wrong if you weren’t.” Conrad revealed to her. Much truth in his statement.

*

Hector followed his brother quickly to the discussion, “I am not glad… besides I don’t think bringing an innocent woman here and encouraging you to procreate is the best solution to our impending deaths by the Hunt.” Hector commented darkly. “Besides, even with the pros of an alliance in the east, I don’t think distracting you with a wedding is best fit.” He commented.

They continued down the hall and soon entered the room with the King, Queen and the Prince and also their parents. Hector bowed his head to each of them.

King Corban spoke first, which was out of turn as a guest, but he was a King. “What brings us here, under such consequences?” He asked.

Victor cleared his throat some, he would have to get right to the point, “I’m sure you have heard rumors circling the castle. We have been able to confirm, through the eyes of trusted servants, and my sons recount of the aftermath,” Victor gestured to Lyram, “That the Wild Hunt had returned to Armath.” He said. “We wish we could give you more definite whereabouts of the location. No reports have been made from any other villages, but the village of Northcross has been demolished,” he spoke. “A hundred years ago the Hunt attempted to wipe the North, that is why the Great North is no longer. We ask for your support my King, any resources you may spare, and if so be it, perhaps some soldiers when the time comes. We must protect our country now more than ever, united as one.”

Corban cleared his throat a moment, taking it all in, “I’ve heard the rumors. That your only witnesses are a deranged hunting girl, and her kid brother.” He spoke his tone on edge, as if he felt cheated by their words. His gaze now turned to Lyram, “Convince me of your findings, because my faith is slipping.” He spoke. Corban’s patience seemed to be leaving him since he arrived in the North. He was furious he would be receiving Hector instead of Lyram, but even more so that news of an old wives tale was taking over the North and distracting from their agreements, especially since he didn’t find his evidence compelling.

*

Ethon was moving kitchen chairs to the corner of one of the cellar walls. Down here they kept all the clean dishes and such, a quick walk up some wooden stairs to the kitchen, but in the back corner there was a grated vent hole that if quiet enough Ethon could hear the conversations happening in Lord Victor’s meeting room. He often listened in on conversations Victor used to have with his sons there, ones Ethon wasn’t permitted to listen to in person. He was curious, he never heard anything interesting, even Victor’s conversations with Bodrin were boring to Ethon’s ears, but he wanted to hear this.

He moved to stand on the chair and pressed his ear up to the grate. He could barely hear anything, but before he could move to lean up closer he heard a soft chuckle by the stairs. Arah and Lehna were standing there with dishes likely to be stored and Ethon quickly jumped down from the chairs. He straightened his shirt out some and nodded to them. “Ladies.” He spoke.

“Up to no good are we Ethon?” Arah commented as she began to place the plates away.

Ethon now moved towards where they were and he helped them lift the plates away, he moved back up the stairs with them, his eyes were on Lehna once they were back in the kitchens. “How was she this morning?” He asked her curiously. At his question Arah rolled her eyes and huffed a bit.

*

“You will grow used to the North, you know. I’ve read the books, they have vast beauty too.” Trentan Estermont spoke to his younger sister. The pair sat in a decorated carriage, their father leading the entourage out front on horseback. The girl, whose long thickened hair was golden like the sun, and fell in cascades down her back wore an observant frown upon her lips. They had barely left the East lands, her home, the vast rolling hills full of the Wildflowers she had loved so deeply ever since she was a girl. They’d spend likely the next week traveling North, she’d see more of this entire country this week than she had her entire life, and likely more than she will ever see again.

“I can read too you know,” She spoke back. Her tone was tense, but clearly not angered at her brother.

He let out a chuckle, “You’ll be able to visit.” He added.

“It is cold and dark for more than half the year, Trenton.” his hand pushed the curtain of the carriage back more, taking in the beautiful and bountiful lands of Drosera.

“I hear Lord Lyram is very handsome.” Trenton added, although that caused no change in the girls demeanor.

“Every Lord is called handsome, whether they are or not. Besides, it’ll hardly matter, I’m there to bear his children. Everyone knows the North pertains to all it’s sons in rule.” She spoke drly.

“I’m sure once Lord Lyram sees how intelligent you are, Elyana-” Trentan began.

“Don’t patronize me. They say Northern men are of the most stubborn. I won’t be allowed a word. Father doesn’t even care, all he wants in exchange for me is a lifetime supply of wood and oar.” She muttered.

“You’ll find a way.” Trenton almost grinned to himself, “You always manage to bend the will your way,” He said to his sister, and for the first time since they had left their home the girl let up the smallest amount of a smile towards him.
 
The scene seemed far too familiar to her. She recognized the trees, the road surrounding White Hall and the smaller adjacent pathways trode through the snow by the feet of travelers rushing South to seek warmth, or East to find work. It was not often that one chose North in the dead of winter, even less the destination they had set off for. Northcross was one of the last villages before the barrier of the Greater North, almost secluded from the rest of the world, and the first to feel the cold when the first snowfall took over the land in early autumn.

Conrad did not break silence until the evening. His voice was warm, rumbling, just enough to keep his words shrouded from the curious ears behind them. Aiyda kept her eyes on the horizon, feeling Krull wave and bend beneath her. “I did not take it to heart,” she murmured. “I don’t think anyone truly knows anything for sure. Perhaps the elders, though mixed with old age such information could get... muddled.”

She lowered her head in thought, then turned it to him. “Maybe there truly is no way to defeat them. When it first happened over a century ago, Armath had magic, and used it with pride. We have that no longer... How could steel swords defeat such thing? Men, armies? What were the men in my father’s party able to do when only one wave of death crushed us? They were hunters too.”



It took a while for her to get accustomed with the idea of going back home. The circumstances were dire, but she found solace in the thought that she was not alone, and Mathys was safe at White Hall, with Ethon. Conrad’s mere presence would have irked her a week prior, but now, it seemed like a godsend in times of darkness. He was there to hold up the light when her hands could bear no more.

Northcross greeted her at dusk. A polar wind had lowered to the ground, making Aiyda’s teeth chatter and her heart flutter with an unspoken joy and sorrow. The village was not lit up by the crackling fire in bedrooms and the great inn sat imposingly in the middle of the settlement. Instead, it was dark and empty, like a burnt forest, or a ruin haunted by souls that had once lived there.

A single flame lit up the sky somewhere in the distance, towards the edge of the forest. Krull slowed down its walk, as if it knew they had arrived home. Poor creature did not know that dame Eyla would not greet them on the porch of their house, with the door open to let out the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted game. Aiyda wished she did not know either, longed for the tiny flame of hope in her heart, but she could not find it anymore. She had gotten used to the thought of her absence.

“We are not alone here,” the girl spoke as she drew closer. Eventually, she dropped from her steed’s back and took its reins in her hand. As she drew closer, she could only make out the silhouettes of what looked like three men and a woman, all wrapped up in traditional furs from ankles to the top of the head. “Seems like we were not the only ones to find out about it all.”

*

Lyram claimed his seat as his father began formally presenting the situation to King Corban, as if it were a mere matter of coins and politics. He sounded awfully calm, perhaps given he had had enough time to digest the information, but Lyram knew that Lord Sterling was tense. The entire castle was, and for a good reason.

He did not expect the King to mind it as much as they did.

His blue gaze scrutinized the noble almost too severely. What more proof did he need? The memory of his first encounter with the girl breathed some understanding into his heart, if only for the fact that he, too, had questioned her sanity. “My King, I am aware this sounds very unlikely,” he started. “But the only proof we truly need is the fact that it did happen over a century ago. And if that is not enough... If the words of the woman who witnessed it all are not enough, then I can present you with what we have seen ourselves.”

A moment passed, as he struggled to collect his words. It was not often that he felt cornered, and in that moment, the pride and reliability of House Sterling were on his shoulders. “We took a few men into the woods, to the opening where the alleged attack took place. We expected to see gored bodies, signs of a battle, but instead, we were welcomed by nothing but frozen blood, and the personal belongings of the hunters.” He breathed, lowered his head, then lifted it to continue. “And to add to it... Eth-We found marks in the snow. Marks that resemble the old runes. The same marks that were seen when the Wild Hunt last took place.”

It irked him how much it took to convince a man of the possibility of recurrence. Now that he has seen it with his own eyes, and both his father and Hector believed them, he could not accept denial coming from the crown. They needed the Kilgour’s money and men to face a war, when the time came. There was no question of ‘if’ any longer.

“Your Grace, with all due respect. If one person had come to us with such claim we would not have supported it. But the girl’s brother saw it too, another place, another time. It cannot be considered a mere coincidence.”

*

A smirk played on Lehna’s face as she let her gaze trace Ethon’s form. He had always been a curious individual, and even now, when he clearly had no place in Lord Sterling’s discussion, he did not seem to care about morals. The discussion likely concerned the girl from Northcross, so therefore, it concerned him.

The simper faded slightly at his question. Lehna lowered her head and began scratching the edge of a cloth against a spot on the table. “Bothered,” she breathed out, visibly touched by the thought of it. “She always asks me about her brother... And if he is well, she asks me about you. ‘Been missing her friend, I think...” Her eyes danced on him again. “The last days have been so busy, I doubt she had any time to talk to someone about it.”

She had been there for Aiyda, at all times when she was summoned, but the girl had never truly seemed interested in spilling her sorrows in her lap for her to hear. She, herself, had Arah, of course, but Aiyda had always been more sensible. More sensitive, as well, given her circumstances, but she had tried her best to befriend her over the weeks she had spent at the castle.

“Ethon, I personally don’t understand you,” she said plainly, throwing the cloth to the other side of the table. “I do not know what you want from those girls you keep eyeing and only teasing. You are not Lord Conrad, for certain... But you are not the comrade we used to know, either.”
 
Conrad listened quietly, their ride peaceful for how long they had been riding as well as the time of night. Again, it would have felt much more appropriate for proper banter had the situation not been so dire. When she looked to him her words were dark, too dark for Conrad to speak properly on the matter. “Perhaps if we had warning and preparation.” He spoke not making eye contact with her. Even he knew that was too good to be true. They could have vast armies and weeks on end to prepare, even knowing exactly when the Wild Huntwould arrive wouldn’t be much help if what the myths stated were correct.

The arrival at Northcross brought similar feelings of their arrival at the Hunter’s camping site. The village itself appeared in a burnt like state, some buildings completely in tact, and some completely demolished. Conrad noted the fire in the distance, and he fell back a moment to speak to the guards, ordering Brask to ride up a head some, towards the figures in the distance.

As the figures approved Conrad moved bside Aiyda, his arm moving out before her to stop her from pushing Krull forward anymore. “Keep back with her Monty.” Conrad stated to the guard on the other side of Aiyda, not giving Aiyda much say, then he finally turned to look at her, his eyes meeting hers and his tone quite serious. “Do not dismount.” He spoke sternly.

Conrad himself propelled forward with Brask now, and both men dismounted their horses and stepped towards the three men and woman. “I am Conrad Sterling of White Hall. I come to survey the events at Northcross.” Conrad spoke to them, “What is your business here?” He asked them.

Of the three men, all appearing older than the female, the youngest of the men stepped forward some, “‘Ow, I ‘pose to kno’ you a lord?” He asked, squinting at Conrad.

“If my crests do not pose enough support, nor my guards, I suppose you will have to take my word on it.” He spoke to them.

Another one of the men spoke, “We come from Cailgait, Lord Sterling.” He spoke, his tone a bit more respectful.

Conrad’s eyes looked over them, they didn’t appear hurt, it gave him hope, “Cailgait is alright then?” he asked, his tone holding a hint of hopefulness, “No attack there?” He asked them.

*

Corban did not believe Lyram fully. “You’ve seen the hunt with your own eyes?” He asked him skeptically. “The story comes from a girl, a child and her kid brother, you expect me to send armies over this? To send my royal guard North because you believe the tales of a woman and a child?” Corban asked. “How do I not know this is a silly ploy the boy and his sister have devised?”

Victor huffed now as the King seemed to be basically ignoring the words, “An entire village has been wiped out, Corban.” His tone tight, and he knew addressing him in such a manner, while disrespectful got his point across. “I will not see my people suffer. I need your support, and should this appear false, which it is not, or should you lose anything in the Great War to come, I will repay my debts.” He told the King if nothing else could convince him.

“Lord Estermont rides North with his son and daughter, his daughter to be wed to Lyram,” Victor stated. Estermont was a trusted man, he gained himself in military efforts, the east hadn’t been at war with another house for ages, and their land was large and bountiful, although not even close to the size of the North, they had many people in their land. Beautiful cities there, and rumors even that their cities were clean, unlike the Illegard which hard a reputation in it’s poorer parts. People from Drosera were integrated and well educated. Maesters were made there, and so were generals for the royal guard.

King Corban huffed, Estermont was convincing and proud and material man, but he was intelligent. “In terms of our agreement, I will give a quarter of the royal army on standby, if the issue should persist. I will need more compelling evidence before I push forth anymore.” He spoke stubbornly.

Victor rubbed his face a bit, side glancing to Hector, wondering if Hector would be able to convince them further on the issue once he had traveled south. “King Corban,” hector spoke, “If they are on standby… it is a long ride North, should the hunt come there won’t be enough time.” He explained.

Corban clicked his jaw. “I will send you 2,000 men. Half will stay with supply in this are of White Hall, the other half should be dispersed throughout the North, with direct contact to you and me. IF anything suspicious occurs they will send a Raven, even from the Northernmost villages this will give us time should my armies need to travel North.” Corban stated.

Victor seemed to growl at the Kings attempt to now put his men in the North. “I already have guards who round the Northern territories-” he began.

“You need men stationed there. Perhaps a reason your villages are disappearing without notice.” Corban spoke, testing Victor. “2,000 men. 1,000 here at White Hall, 1,000 disperssed around the North. Should you agree to this I will hae 20,000 men for you on standby.” he stated.

Victor frowned, infiltration of the North was not what he wanted through this deal. Hector looked to his father, almost beckoning him to take the deal, it was the best they would get from Corban. Hector nudged his brother, hoping to talk some sense into their father who looked ready to refuse the deal altogether.

*

Bothered this morning, of course. His eyes lifted to meet Lehna’s as she spoke that she asked about him, Missing her friend. If she missed him she wouldn’t have told him what she had the other night. She pushed him away. Her next comment caused perplexion within him. “What girls?” He asked, as far as he knew the only woman he had his eyes on was Aiyda. But he did glance slightly at Arah, who seemed quite busy polishing one dish too well.

“I am not teasing. Besides, it is clear Aiyda is uninterested.” He spoke his tone a bit gruff in the moment. The anger was likely clear to the girls as Arah turned now.

“A lot of frustration there, Ethon?” She commented, a slight giggle on her tone as she glanced to Lehna with a wink.

Ethon glanced to her, even if he wanted a woman’s attention after his disagreement with Aiyda he did not want Arah’s. Not after she fucked Conrad out of spite. He paused a moment, maybe Conrad pressured her, it was not uncommon. But she was often willing with many, it was hard to tell. Ethon looked to Lehna now, “Perhaps we should head to the pubs tonight?” He beckoned to the girls. “Haven’t been in a while have we?” He said to them.

“You haven’t been.” Arah stated shaking her head at him.
 
Aiyda’s jaw clenched slightly at Conrad’s command, but she obeyed. They did not have an entire cohort to protect them, which meant that if the strangers were hostile, they could risk far less by keeping their distance and their horses at the ready. With a light hop, she propped herself back on Krull and waited, watching the scene pour slowly, almost silent against the brisk wind.

In the quiet evening, she could hear the men’s words from afar. Judging by the way they spoke and the tonality of their voice, they were far from posh nobles. Northerners were not particularly known for their hospitality with strangers; Cailgait was a small village not more than a day’s ride from there, which meant they might at the very least recognize her by her surname. Saeberian rung far through the snowy lands of Armath.

“Cailgait is untouched,” she heard one of the hooded silhouettes speak, a softer woman’s voice, “but not safe. We couldn’t risk taking any more men from its borders than it was needed for this expedition. So I suppose we have found a common ground.” Her gaze dug deeper into the horizon and reached Aiyda and the guard standing by her side on his horse. “I am Yldra. We came here to find proof of danger... I guess we’ve found it.”

Aiyda dug her nails into her palm in her trembling grip on the reins. She gave Monty a sharp look, knowing he technically and practically had no say in her choices, and urged Krull closer to the scene. The warmth of the fire was close enough to light up her face in the dark light of dying dusk, but too far to be felt on their frozen cheeks. She neared Conrad, gave the villagers a nod of her head and dismounted her horse.

“You know, don’t you? What really happened here.” She moved her eyes from one face to the other, as though morbidly seeking the terror of realization.

“We would be fools to deny it now,” the woman answered. She looked back towards the oldest man, who had not yet drawn too close, but was watching them attentively from a few steps away. “The Gods have been merciful to you, Lady Aiyda,” she sighed. “May they keep your father’s soul.“

“Yours, however, they are not done with,” the man interrupted. “My name is Jonah Beinn. I was once-“

“I know who you are. You were in my father’s hunting party when I was little. You accompanied us South to Eldstead once... When our father took Mathys and I to learn how to read. And I am no Lady, but the mere holder of a proud name.”

Jonah gave her a smile and lowered his head. “You are just like him. That fire. Although I would not be surprised, for your mother Eyla was the same. ‘Tis why Jasper loved her so much.” He gestured towards the fire in an effort at a hint of cordiality. “Come rest for a while. We will show you what we’ve found in the morning... Although I cannot promise you much more than trails and ashes. As you likely already know.”

*

Between grinding teeth and ringing ears, Lyram was thankful for his father’s intervention, so bluntly stating King Corban’s ignorance. The man had brushed past his words without taking a moment to absorb them, which only made the matter feel even heavier in comparison to the trivial worries of the Kilgours. He glanced over to Hector for a moment, to see if he shared his feelings, then found his poise yet again listening to the conversation unravel.

It seemed as though each time his father mentioned Lord Estermont and his daughter, he became more and more preoccupied with the thought. His thoughts were disorganized and childish, like an amalgam of anger, confusion and puerile distress. Of course, his men would be useful to them on the long run; they had allies in the East now, and soon that allience would be set in stone with a change of name and a bedding ceremony he was looking forward to slightly less than the former benefits.

The South, however, he doubted would be of much help. They were already treating the matter with an irking nonchalance.

“One thousand is better than nothing,” Lyram decided, setting his jaw. “The other thousand can inform us of any suspicious activities in the North. They won’t prevent this impeding danger from approaching, but will at least warn us of any advances towards White Hall.” His gaze flickered to the Queen, whose own was absent, analyzing cuts in the surface of the wooden table. “We thank your Graces for your help. And your consideration.”

The latter was spoken sourly. Lyram did not care about being subtle - Corban Kilgour was treating them like children and he wanted him to know he was in the wrong. In that moment, he felt closer to Conrad and his immature outbursts, closer to Hector’s bluntness, and he could feel Lord Victor lean towards that less balanced state as well.

Hector’s nudge did nothing more than to press Lyram even more. He looked towards his father, gave him a nod of reassurance, a weak promise of taking the blame if the two thousand proved to bring more detriments than benefits. “This will keep the North alert. If we are the first to take action, then perhaps the other Houses will become suspicious enough to dedicate themselves to the cause as well. The Northern lords would believe the words of the ceremonial hunters.”
 
Conrad’s gaze was tight on the woman now speaking. Cailgait’s people were protecting its borders, they were afraid and preparing for the worst. His mind was reeling, should he offer guards to be sent to Cailgait? Northern territories were proud, and they did not like to accept help. They offered help to one another constantly, whether it with men or resources, but it was rare to ask.

Before Conrad could speak further Aiyda’s voice came and it was right next to him. He looked to his left, where she stood just slightly behind him before stepping up to turn it seemed. Conrad’s gaze looked back at Monty with a glare. Monty let the slightest glint of a smile escape, as if to say ‘What did you expect?’ Conrad only frowned further, knowing that was right.

“Anyone would be a fool to deny it.” Conrad muttered looking over the group before them. They seemed to know who Aiyda was. And no doubt the story of her and her brother had already traveled all the way across the North. He listened more, the oldest man a previous hunter for Aiyda’s father.

The man gestured toward the fire and Conrad didn’t hesitate like he would have a few moments ago. Hunters were trusted in the North, it was more than a group, when the hunters came to White Hall at the end of their hunt it was a large feast and a celebration. The men of the hunt well respected. Conrad glanced to Aiyda, realizing she would have been in White Hall under different circumstances in a few months time had her first ritual gone a bit different.

The group now moved towards the fire, Conrad moving with Aiyda, Brask looking a bit gruff over the fact that Aiyda had not been reprimanded for stepping out of place. Monty still held up the rear, him leading the horses to a nearby grouping of trees by the outskirts of the fire. Brask had brought a couple of flasks for the night and he opened up two of them first offering to Jonah Beinn. “drink?” Muttered Brask to the older man as they all took seated on logs gathered by the fire.

Monty came back to the group and sat on the other side of Aiyda. It was Brask who spoke now, he let out a breath before speaking, “Do you know Mitchar Brask?” he asked the group. Conrad now turned in question at Brask, “My brother’ m’Lord.” Brask spoke looking down now. Conrad was unaware Brask had a brother, he thought all the Brask’s were military men. Brask's father was right hand man to Conrad's uncle before his Uncle passed years ago. In the time being, Brask's father had taken over the guard, to Conrad's understand always very hard on Brask. He died just two years ago. “He left wen’ e wuz of age’” Brask spoke bitterly, “Wen’ further North, got letter once, he was in Cailgait, years ago” Brask spoke to them, his tone was not hopeful.

*

Victor was keeping himself together quite well he thought. He knew Caterina could tell as her hand was resting over his squeezing it lightly. This wasn’t a matter of Northern pride, he wasn’t trying to steal men from the South. If they needed men and they weren't there the entire country of Armath would fall.

Hector was glad that Lyram spoke, as he was sure if his father opened his mouth he might explode. Hector nodded now, “I will set the agreement in writing, have you each sign once I have it written.” hector informed them both.

The King stood now, and as he stood everyone else did. “Your grace.” Victor muttered. And the King held his arm for his wife to take and led her out of the chambers with his son behind them. He was tense moving down the hall, but he was satisfied, although he had bent some, he did come out of the agreement on top. The Northerners and their rubbish beliefs, he wondered how Hector would fair as their Norther representative.

Now that the King was gone Victor let out a deep breath and Caterina’s hand came to rest on his shoulder now, rubbing and squeezing gently. “We will get them proof. They cannot ignore it. Armath will suffer as a whole if they don’t.” Caterina said trying to soothe everyone, especially her husband.

“He thinks I am having a go at him.” Victor muttered letting out another deep breath, “Arrogant.” Victor muttered. He was very much worked up, but there was no way to tell a King that they were in the wrong. He brought his hand forth to his forehead, he was more frustrated because he would have a bloody wedding on his hand a few days after the Estermonts arrived.

“She’s pretty you know.” Victor huffed finally to Lyram. Knowing by now he knew about the Wedding, but he did not have a sufficient amount of time to tell his son himself. “I wish it could have happened in a better way. A courting presentation, instead of strictly for allies.” Victor explain, attempting to tell his son he intended for him to have a little more of a choice.

“My son cares a little more than just about beauty,” Caterina spoke looking to her oldest son.

“Not your third son,” Hector chuckled, which earned a look from his mother and Hector backed down.

“I heard while beautiful, is also quite intelligent. She cares a lot about her people. Compassionate.” Caterina smiled to Lyram. Truthfully Caterina knew nothing of the girl, but rumors that spread were decent. The largest issue Caterina expected were the same as she had when she came to the North, it was a sentence to a dark, cold, and unwelcoming place. Northern Lords were exceedingly handsome, even when she was a young girl, and yet no men seemed Handsome enough for a sentence to the North. She hated her own father for months when she was sentenced to the North, but Victor turned her around eventually. Their love grew slowly, and when she bore his sons, now three grown Northern men she couldn’t imagine herself anywhere else.

“Come Lyram,” She said now standing up. “Hector will finish writing the agreement for your father to sign, let us walk my son.” She spoke taking his arm as they moved out of the hall. “You have too much on your mind,” She spoke to him, although she was smiling, “Already facing the pressures of a true Lord.”
 
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Aiyda took note of Conrad’s visible frustration as she came by his side, and was relieved when he did not reprimand her for wishing to take part in the conversation. The invitation to sit around the fire would have been more welcoming given different circumstances, but was soothing nonetheless after days of riding, sores and aches atop their steeds.

They left Northcross behind them, or rather the ghost of it, as it stood like a forgotten statue propped in the middle of a field, devouring the moonlight with a ravenous hunger. The day she had left it, the first hints of winter had crawled in from the North, and the village was brimming with eyes and ears gathering to witness the hunting ceremony. Now, it seemed like they all had gone, taken by the same black fire. She had seen the painting of this nightmare too many times to be shaken any longer.

A few bedrolls had been laid down to keep the ground beneath warm and dry. They were barely enough against the thin but solid layer of snow, but offered some alleviation from the prickling cold. She noticed the travelers from Cailgait had been dining on roasted game, and for a moment, she was tempted to ask for a piece, but resorted to her own dried ham carefully packed by Lehna inbetween the flask of water and old bread.

Voices united in a small conversation she did not care enough to pay mind to then. Aiyda’s eyes remained on the man she now knew by the name of Jonah, clinging to him like a memory. He looked regal in his silence, even as old as he was, he could pass as a hunter in her father’s service, or his own. Had he ever lead the hunt? Had he ever seen more than Jasper, or Uther, or Herik?

“Enough with the small talk,” the man said, and slammed down the bottle Brask had given him. He had taken the man’s offer for peace, but his sudden curiosities did not seem to merge well with his own that night. “We’ve all mourned our lost and dead, I’m sick of that.” His gaze moved from the guard, to the Lord, then fell on the girl watching him with a hunter’s gaze. “What did you see in the woods that night?”

Aiyda pursed her lips and took a breath, her fingers holding on to the frozen flask of water. She had told the story so many times, that now, when she brought it back to her mind, the memory felt empty, more resembling a vivid dream, or words written in a book of tales. She looked down into the flames, dancing with a fervent excitement and mirroring in the depths of her eyes. So close to her home, those nightmares suddenly started to feel more palpable.

“Death,” she murmured. “The stories we refused to believe were true... A wave of darkness and death, nothing more than that. I did not hear names, I did not see faces, but the ones of my father’s men gargling their blood and scurrying to shelter.” She tapped her fingers over the leather covering the flask and shook her head. “I can only believe that my brother and I survived because they wanted witnesses to their massacre.”

“Little Mathys,” Jonah murmured, thinking. “The boy was of age? He made it out with you?”

Aiyda shook her head once again. “He was in Northcross a day after the attack in the woods. He... The Gods had kept him on these fields with his own steed. He had the time to run before... it reached him.”

Jonah’s jaw tensed, his gaze darkening in thought. From the look etched on his face, he was not surprised with what he had heard. Yldra chimed in, with one hand kindling the fire and the other clutching her hood closer to her head against the wind. “We’ve heard a few stories. Not all the same, people like to flourish. But none believed that the boy survived. Some even doubted you did.”

“People of the North are superstitious,” the man said, and brought the flask to his lips for a thirsty gulp. “They already had the Heir’s Augury on their mind, like it was their business knowing of the wars between the nobles. Now they came to think perhaps the words in it were not figures of speech.”

A sizzle sent embers flying into the night sky, and Yldra let out a subdued grunt between her teeth. She shook the scorched sleeve, loose hairs and bits of burnt steak hanging from the edge. “Fuck this damned wind,” she growled. “It’s like the ghosts of this village don’t want us talking about them.”

“You’re gonna want to clean that out. We’re out of proper water anyway.” Jonah pushed himself up on his feet and dragged the empty flask along. “Hope you won’t mind it, would ya?” He shook it towards Brask and shrugged. “It’s empty anyway.”

*

It was rare seeing his parents together like so, only bothered by matters of the court, but with their hearts at ease with one another. It was difficult for Lyram to look at them and listen at the same time, almost in fear of losing sight of the scene painted before him. He craved to be young again, careless, to fall asleep in her mother’s arms and listen to his father chastize his brothers for their terrible spelling.

He let out a huff at his father’s attempt at easing the circumstances of his hasty betrothal. “I would have at least liked to meet her beforehand. I’ve always known I was to marry for our family, not my own heart, but you are forcing me to pledge my love to a woman I have never seen or heard from before.” He looked to his mother, who was likely not a stranger to the situation. “I trust your judgement. Women seem to know one another better than anyone.”

Hector only appeared pleased with the mere fact that something was causing his brother discomfort. It was unusual for Lyram to be flustered, and there were few that intimmidated him enough; more often than not, he kept his thoughts and worries for sleepless nights, not family councils. But for a woman to cause him such concern, he himself was unfamiliar to the amalgam of wonder and fire.

He offered his father a bow of his head as he pushed himself back on his feet and drew closer to his mother. “I hope it is as you say, and those are not only rumours.” Lyram offered his mother a cordial smile, and his brother a more derisive version of the latter. “I could only wonder what the Kilgours have prepared for you in terms of your romantic adventures in the Capital. A noble wife, sunkissed and gentle... Who carries the scent of sea and Southern horses.”

Or a woman much better than the truth behind the beautifully concealed lies. He did want to believe that his parents spoke truth. Perhaps his wife would not be as sore to the eye and heart as he imagined.
 
Conrad watched the group silently, Brask speaking and the others appeared to be listening. Conrad’s own mind wandering. They would need to gather up more information. Help from these travelers would be received with great thanks, but he needed to see a lot for himself as well, his father would have wanted him to.

The older man seemed a bit impatient, brushing aside any talk and his attention now on Aiyda, demanding what she saw in the woods the night she saw the Hunt. Conrad had heard the stories many times, and yet he’d only believed it once, when he was there to witness the moment himself. But when she spoke again, so close to her home that had faced the same fate, he felt it again, the feeling deep within his gut. It was real.

As Aiyda and Jonah continued speaking, Conrad thought about Aiyda’s words: can only believe that my brother and I survived because they wanted witnesses to their massacre. This made no sense to Conrad, why did they want to strike fear? He wanted to understand. Perhaps tradition? A true siege and massacre of an entire nation was bound well when the other side didn’t see it coming. A warning made it almost honorable seeming…. Fair. Why cause the trouble? He supposed some thought torment was fun. It was difficult to comprehend, something he was sure Hector would find great fun in trying to figure out. The thought only made Conrad frown.

“We should kno’ ‘bout the war ‘tween nobles,” The smaller of Jonah’s men spoke bringing his own bottle to his lips. “Its m' home too, this place, Armath.” He muttered slowly.

The other shook his head, “Don’t matter, Ox. All about the Hunt now ain’t it?” He said, his tone was much more solemn, his friends angry. “The words ain’t no personification, it’s real.” He spoke.

Conrad glanced up, he didn’t say anything in the moment. They should know about the politics going on, they should have more of a stream of communication. But right now all that mattered was the Hunt. And with these men’s words he was trying to recall the exact scripture of the Augury.

“Real?” The man called Ox spoke, “Blade o’ ice, that shit ain’t real. M’ great granpappy spoke ‘o th’ tools they ‘ad. It ain’t coming back. They killed it out.” Ox’s fists were balled.

Conrad’s eyes were following the men arguing, tools made of ice? Great Grandparents telling stories? Sounded like the stories the kitchen maids said the old tavern men told them. “It’s late.” Spoke Conrad quietly now, “We should sleep, pay our respects in the morning after we investigate further.” his tone was distant as he looked through the woods slightly in Northcrosses direction. Conrad now looked over to Monty and Brask. Monty raised his hand a bit. “Great, Monty will take first watch.” he spoke.

The man named Ox nodded also, “I’ll watch wit ‘im.” He spoke.

Conrad began to situate himself to lay in one of the bedrolls, loosening the ties on his jacket and re-positioning the leather bag he had to form a makeshift pillow. He wondered if Lord Duir made any official statement of the Wild Hunt? Conrad was curious as to what the other Lords were telling their people. Their Maester had sent ravens to the other Lords. But no words seemed to be made official, just rumors spreading left and right really.

*

Caterina smiled a bit as Lyram offered a different sort of smile to his brother. She herself smiled some, “A woman who could tame Hector's heart would indeed be a sight.” His mother spoke with a small smile. Hector’s eyes, who had ignored Lyram a moment earlier lifted to meet his mother’s gaze. The woman held the same smile she wore before, no change in facial expressions or body language, the only moment was a different look in her eyes.

Hector turned back to the table, finishing writing for his father, “Unlikely.” He spoke quietly.

Caterina now left the chambers with Lyram, walking along the hall with him, clutching to her eldest son, a soft smile on her lips. “Soon you will be walking your wife down these corridors.” She spoke softly. “You will be a good husband.” She assured him quietly, “A good Lord of the North as well. It was never you I had doubts about.” The woman spoke, a slight upturn playing at the corner of her lips.

The woman thought momentarily about what types of husbands her other sons would be. She was confident in one, and the other would do as well as he could. Her eyes now moved back to her oldest. “You were the happiest when you were a boy, Lyram,” the woman spoke to her son as she stopped walking and turned to face him. Her hand lifted gently to her son's cheek and her thumb drifted gently along his cheekbone. “Age has stolen away your innocence I suppose. It always does.” She muttered. “I know being Lord of the North brings worry, you already have that same crease in your brow as your father,” the woman’s hand lifted a bit more. “Please Lyram, try to find happiness again. It has been so long since I have seen that smile.”
 
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Aiyda jolted as she heard the sound of burning flesh, and her eyes flickered to Yldra in a shaken glance. She gave Jonah and the woman a nod of her head as they made their way through the bedrolls set around the fire and into the deep darkness, only finding the river by its constant and peaceful murmur in the night.

Her attention was back on the other men quickly, now slightly irked at one of the men scoffed at the mention of a prophecy. “You’ve seen and heard so much, and yet you still don’t think it’s real? Did my father die for nothing then?” Aiyda almost growled, but maintained a hunter’s poise. “It happened once, and our ancestors were as doubtful as we are now. Might not be a blade of ice... But a weapon nonetheless. The Gods aren’t going to give us any miracle unless we fight for ourselves.”

She was surprised at Conrad’s lack of interest in the mens’ negligence over the matter. Given how much respect the Northerners seemed to pay to the hunters of Northcross when it benefited them, it was a shame how easily they were ready to cast aside their truths, in favour of dulcet blindness. Perhaps the Lords of White Hall would have done the same, had Lyram not urged them to take action. Had Ethon not stayed by her side, screaming the danger into Lord Sterling’s ears until he paid enough mind to listen to what they had to say.

As Conrad ordered for the pack of them to call it a night, Aiyda could do naught but abide, albeit with a pursed mouth and gritted teeth. The bedroll beneath seemed much more appealing in that moment than arguing with men with sticks so far up their arses. ‘I will raise Mathys well,’ she thought, and the shadow of a smile overcame the creasing frown. Their mother had already done most of the work.

The night was silent. Too silent, for the moments that passed, only the flames bearing against the wind with a low rumble. Aiyda waited to fall asleep, her eyes resting on the two empty bedrolls on the other side of the fire. The stream crossing the field by the woods was not too far away from where they had camped, perhaps a minute’s reach, but not longer. It pearled somewhere behind her, where she could not see Jonah and Yldra, nor could she hear their voices in the night’s silence.

It took a peak over her shoulder, and she saw shadows flickering from the corner of her eye: one, tall and wide, then another, slimmer, shuddering by the edge of the stream... And another, much larger, much wider, much darker than both Jonah and Yldra combined. In the pale light of the moon cutting through the clouds, Aiyda caught the glimpse of a massive beast, stretching upwards on the other side of the water, fixating the two in its stillness.

She saw her breath turn into steam and dissipate in the wind. Her hand reached for her bow, and in a piercing silence, Aiyda pranced on her feet, ready to release the arrow from her tight hold. “Don’t move,” she murmured, softer than the crackle of fire, as though the two villagers could hear her from so far away. Somehow, they knew, for their silhouettes remained still, wind breathing through their hair and the ermine rimming their coats.

The beast roared, and Aiyda’s arrow shrieked back.

The bear rose on its back legs and shot its head up in pain, then let itself back down in a muffled fall. Aiyda could not tell where the arrow had hit, but it had not been enough to pin it down for good. Kindled by pain, the bear shook its mane and began trotting faintly through the snow, each step getting closer to Jonah, who was now standing still with his arm before Yldra. Aiyda pulled another arrow from the quiver on the ground and prepared for another blow, which she released towards the mass without calculating a direction.

This time, the beast curled down, a sign it had it one of its legs, or perhaps its gut. It growled loudly, echoed through the silence, but it only gathered more strength to dash through the cold current and pass the stream to the other side. The bear roared towards them, towards the fire menacingly waiting to engulf it.

‘No. Not here. Not them.'

In the terror of the moment, Aiyda ran to the side of the river and set her last arrow against the nock. She let out a breath - warm, quiet, peaceful. The large shadow was now leaping towards her, and with each step, Aiyda directed the tip of her arrow towards its core. If it got her, the others would have time to run. If it got her good, they could gather their weapons and delay their deaths while the ungodly beast was too busy licking the blood dripping from her jugular.

Her arrow whistled through the wind and hit its target. The darkness let out a long roar as it fell towards her and hurled her into the freezing river.

*

As difficult as it would be for a man his age to admit to missing the presence of his mother, Lyram wanted nothing more in that moment than to lose himself in her arms and feel like a child once again. Most importantly, he wanted to believe that her soothing words were true, even if they seemed like sugar coated slices of hell. He had been looking forward to the day he would be named Lord of White Hall ever since he was old enough to understand the concept of such glory, and now, he was standing back with his tail between his legs, contemplating.

“I just...” He let out a sigh and placed his hand on his mother’s own. “I did not expect it would happen so soon. Father has been preparing my brothers and I for as long as I can remember, but now that it’s real, and it’s compulsory...” He shook his head. Perhaps he would be too good at being a Lord to care about making a good husband to his betrothed.

A simper played at his lips, bitter, longing for the time she would not refer to him in past tense. “Key word, mother, when I was a boy. I did not have such worries atop my head. I was laughing at my brothers for their stupid interests... I was so tainted and so pure at the same time, like any child not yet having tasted life.” He knew he was nowhere near the height of his wisdom, but he had witnessed enough to know what was waiting for him was not just milk and honey, if that at all.

He let her hand caress him and closed his eyes to devour the touch deeply. Was that what he had been missing? Affection? Was that why his parents were both so eager to get him a wife before age turned him sour? Lyram breathed heavily and shook his head yet again. “I will never be as cold as my father, I promise you that,” he chuckled. “But neither will I ever be Conrad... Or Hector... Or Ethon. I jealous of them all. They have their freedom, especially Ethon. The Kilgours seem to fancy him more than they fancy me, although maybe in perspective that’s a good thing.”

The last thing he wanted was to be shipped off to the Capital in a nice carriage and have to spend the rest of his youth kissing royal arse.

“Do not worry about me, mother,” he concluded. “I may not be a boy anymore, but that’s a good thing now. You’ve heard what is coming. If someone should have their head on their shoulders now, it is father and I. The others are... busy hunting redhead foxes.”
 
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