Arya flinched as her mother continued to scold her for being so reckless. It was the morning after Arya and Gendry had dealt with the three thieves and the story had spread like wildfire through the castle. The remaining thief, Edgar, had been thrown in the cells and would likely get his hand removed as punishment. As for the other two men, their bodies had been immediately disposed of and a thorough check had been done in the pantry to make sure that none of the food that had been set aside for winter had been spoiled by blood.
Gendry had been congratulated by many of his companions for his bravery and quick thinking in the face of danger. Arya's mother had given him a very public "thank you" that morning as everyone broke their fast.
The large boy hadn't stopped blushing since then.
As soon as breakfast was over, Arya had been practically pulled by her ear into her father's solar where she was currently being given the worst tongue lashing she had ever received in her young life, and she had received many after years of defying her mother's expectations.
"Of all the ridiculous, hair-brained, dangerous actions you have taken, this crosses the line!" Mother hissed, pacing while Arya sank lower and lower in her chair. "You could have been killed or worse! Thank the Seven that Gendry arrived when he did!"
"Mother, I…"
"No!" Mother snapped, rounding on the young woman. "I have given you all you wanted, Arya. I let you dress like a boy! I let you practice with that sword of yours! Ever since I had you back, I tried to make you happy, but if this is how you'll abuse your freedom, then I swear as the Old Gods as my witness that I will take it all away!"
"Mother, you can't!" Arya cried, shooting to her feet.
"Who is there to stop me?" Mother countered. "If your father was here, he would agree with me! You deliberately put yourself in danger, Arya. Gendry said that he would help you, all you had to do was wait. But no, you rushed stupidly into the room and tried to fight three men by yourself."
"I was there, Mother, I know what I did," Arya scowled, growing tired of her mother's rant.
"Then you know how stupid it was," Mother said. "You didn't try to get the guard and you left the man who offered to help you. There are half a dozen ways you could have dealt with this situation and all of them would have ended with the thieves thrown in the dungeons."
Arya glared at her mother before dropping back into her chair and crossing her arms, content to let her mother rant and just deal with the consequences when they come. Instead, her mother followed her and sat in Father's chair on the other side of the desk, one hand rubbing her forehead as she tried to control her breathing.
"Arya, I lost you for months," Mother said after a long pause. Her voice had gone through a complete change. It was now gentle and tired, not angry and scolding. "I remembered how unhappy you were before the war. I admit I kept trying to make you into someone you weren't nor would ever be. I didn't want to see you unhappy anymore. I know how much you love your sessions with Syrio. He once told me that you have a lot of potential, and that alone gave me peace since I already have one of my children who insist on fighting. I let you dress like a boy because I hated seeing your confidence dwindle whenever you wore a dress. I saw how proud you were when you looked like a true braavo. You were the best…you I had ever seen! I wanted you to grow into a woman you would be proud of." her mother shook her head. "You were trying to do the right thing, Arya, as usual, but what you did was also extremely foolish and just plain stupid. I want you to promise me that you will do a better job of thinking through all your options when confronted with a situation like the one last night."
"I swear," Arya said quietly.
"I want you to swear on the Old Gods, Arya," Mother said.
"I swear on the Old Gods and the New that I will think before I act," Arya said, invoking her mother's gods to be extra thorough.
"Thank you," Mother sighed. "You've had a very long night. Go to your room and sleep. I will speak to Syrio and Maester Byron and have your lessons paused for the day."
"Yes mother," Arya said, moving to leave. When she reached the door, she paused and turned back. "Mother?"
"Yes?"
"How do you feel about Gendry?"
Her mother raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.
"He's…a good man, I believe," she answered finally. "He looks so much like Robert did back during the Rebellion, but at the same time, he is a completely different person. He is without all of Robert's…flaws, but seems to carry all of his goodness. Why do you ask?"
Arya looked at the floor as she felt her face heat up. "Just curious," she answered quickly before slipping out the door.
Robb Stark
Robb watched silently as the Children of the Forest prayed around the small weirwood that grew in the center of the dining hall, their words sounding like music to the monarch's ears, despite the fact that he had no idea what they were saying. The humanoids sat on the floor and tables in two circles, one inside the other, holding hands as they prayed. They swayed like the branches of the tree as they sang.
There was something about their song that gave Robb a peculiar feeling. It filled him with warmth and hope, making him think of spring, the sun on his face, the feeling of the wind against his skin. It made him think of the expansive fields of the Reach and the beautiful woods and rivers of the Riverlands. It made him think of his family, his pregnant wife, and his son who were hopefully still safe back in King's Landing.
But there was another piece to the song. An underlying tone that shattered Robb's heart and almost brought tears to his eyes. It made him want to sit and cry, thinking about all the destruction and carnage that the land had suffered. How so many innocent people have been lost because of the ambition of others.
"Beautiful isn't it," the Green Man said quietly, appearing at Robb's side.
Things had changed in the past few days since the arrival of the Green Men and the Children of the Forest. At first, the men of Westeros had steered clear of the mess hall, which had become the unofficial home of the Children, but then the Green Men began to speak. They explained that the last time the Children of the Forest fought side-by-side with mankind, the Others were defeated and thrown back into their wretched wasteland. They also explained that the weirwood tree that grew in the mess hall was a symbol of the Old Gods and their love of men.
Whether they were all lies or not, Robb wasn't sure, but the words of the Green Men were slowly having an effect on Robb's soldiers. They didn't look so hesitant around the Children anymore and the young monarch had even seen a few soldiers talking to a pair of Children in the smithy.
Robb's commanders had also done their part to help alleviate any fears that the men still had. They still had their meals in the mess hall, sitting with the Children and the Green Men as they ate.
"Beautiful is an understatement," Robb muttered. "What are they singing?"
"They call it the 'Song of Life'," the Green Man explained. "It reminds them that there is beauty and goodness still in the world, but also darkness and death as well. It reminds them that these two things are balanced."
Robb nodded. That made perfect sense to him, considering all that the song made him feel and think of.
"How did your men find them?" he asked curiously.
"The Children?" the Green Man replied. "That is a…interesting story."
"I have time," Robb joked.
The Green Man smiled slightly. "When the Andals invaded, they cut down many weirwoods, as you know. The Children of the Forest, seeing this new threat, disappeared into the wilderness, away from the world of men where they could live in peace. Some sought out the last remaining weirwoods south of the Neck, others found new homes in caves high in the hills of the Westerlands and the Vale. Many took refuge on the Isle of Faces, seeing it as the last 'stronghold' south of the Neck. Leaf was among them before she and a group of Children went north of the Wall for roughly fifty years."
"North of the Wall?" Robb asked. "Why?"
"So that they could protect and mentor the man who would eventually mentor your brother, Bran," the Green Man said. "I believe you have heard of him. He had only one eye and a red stain on his face."
"You're talking about Bloodraven," Robb said. "I thought he disappeared and died north of the Wall."
"Disappeared, yes. Died, no. He lived for decades in a cave, kept company by Leaf and others, waiting until Bran Stark made his way to him," the Green Man explained. "But, that is a story for another time. The Children of the Forest can hide like few others, and when they choose not to be seen, believe me, you won't see them."
"So how did your men find them?" Robb asked.
"The Children have always had strong connections to the Old Gods, and they saw the weirwoods as their sacred trees of sorts," the Green Man answered. "Through the use of the weirwoods, my men were able to call out to the Children, asking them to return to the Isle of Faces. That's where Leaf gathered the last of her people and here they are."
"Where will they go after the war?" Robb asked before quickly amending his question. "If we were to win."
"They would probably return to their homes," the Green Man said with a shrug. "For all their beauty, the Children are a pragmatic bunch. Their time as rulers of this land is long over. The time of man has come. They fought against it valiantly, but they just managed to weather the coming of the First Men. The Andal Invasion signaled what they all feared. Now, they will continue to live on as they have in the past. Away from prying eyes, worshiping their gods of stone and tree. Eventually, they will fade and disappear."
"That's terrible," Robb said.
The Green Man shrugged again. "That's life, your grace. The Children live long lives and are slow to have children. Their race has been dwindling for years and they live in packs that number less than ten."
"If they all move to the Isle of Faces, surely they could keep their race alive for centuries," Robb countered.
"The Children are free spirits, your grace," the Green Man explained. "Maybe their species can last longer if they all live in seclusion on the isle, but sooner or later, some would drift away. It's just who they are."
"What was it like, living among them?"
"It was peaceful," the Green Man answered with a slight smile on his face. "I came to care and respect their culture, and I think they came to tolerate me. They're humorous and witty…"
"Almost childish?" Robb joked.
"Indeed," the Green Man chuckled. "They're good, loyal friends who have been good hosts to my order for many centuries. They protected us when the Andals first arrived."
"Is that why the isle was never conquered?" Robb asked.
"The Andals might have had the light of the Seven upon them, but the Green Men had the help of this who brought the hammer of the waters down on the Neck," the Green Man said, his smile turning into a fierce grin. "The Andals had boats, and we had arrows, but there was much more danger in the water than there was in the trees."
"Remind me never get cross the Children of the Forest," Robb grunted.
"They're an ancient race, Robb Stark," the Green Man said as the Children finished their song. "Ancient and powerful."
After hearing all that the Green Man had said, Robb couldn't help but agree.
Margaery Stark
Margaery leaned on the railing of her balcony as she looked over her city, amazed and worried by what she saw. It was the early morning, and the sun was still waking in the east, but there was enough light to see the frost that had covered roofs and the streets in the night. People emerged from their houses, clearly surprised by what they saw. Men began to chat about what it would mean for business while housewives gossiped and made up stories about the sudden appearance of the frost.
The laughter of children could be heard clearly as they collected the frost and threw it at their friends before it melted. Margaery smiled at the sound, but also at their innocence. They were able to marvel at the snow and have their fun. Margaery had the unfortunate honor of knowing what the snow signified.
The Long Night had struck.
"Your Grace, the grand maester is here for you," Mira said quietly from inside the room.
"Let him in," Margaery said, not turning around. She heard the sound of her friend's footsteps before she heard the door open and close. Within seconds, the grand maester had stepped out onto the balcony with her.
"Your Grace, the Citadel has sent out the white ravens," he said grimly. "Winter is here."
Margaery turned her head and gave the big man a sad smile. She gestured for him to join her by the railing.
"I knew it was coming," Margaery said quietly. "Still, there was a little piece of me that was hoping it would never come."
"Completely understandable," Sam said gently. "How are you feeling this morning?"
Margaery looked down and rubbed her belly. It was slowly swelling, and although she didn't know the sex of her child, she already had an immense amount of love for them. Torrhen was quite amazed and confused as to why his mother was growing. Whenever he touched her stomach, Margaery would whisper that he will have a sibling soon.
Of course, Torrhen had no idea what his mother was talking about.
"Good, Sam," she replied. "Archmaester Amos has been fantastic."
Sam nodded. "I am glad to hear it. I've learned a lot from him."
Margaery glanced at the grand maester, once again struck by how young he was. He had just turned seventeen a month ago, but he was given a position of importance beside the king as his advisor and maester. Margaery knew that he was a very intelligent and observant fellow who was a voracious reader, which made him a favorite of Tyrion's, but there were some things he had never had time to learn during his time at the Citadel.
"How did your peers take it when you were named Grand Maester?" Margaery asked.
Sam smiled wryly. "They had mixed feelings, to say the least, your grace," he explained. "On one hand, I had kept the Citadel from being turned to ash like the Starry Sept. On the other hand, I am not yet twenty namedays and the leaders of the Citadel have very…traditional views."
"They think you're too young," Margaery guessed.
Sam nodded. "They do. They were impressed with me healing the king, but I had only forged three rings up to that point and many saw them as something that was given rather than earned."
"How so?"
"They were three rings of iron," Sam answered. "I earned them when I led the defenses of the Citadel. I've earned more since, but not enough to make me a fully qualified maester."
"Wasn't it my husband who gave you the position?" Margaery asked.
When her husband had assembled his Small Council, when she had arrived at the first meeting, she wasn't surprised to see Sam sitting in the room. He had been sitting by Jon and Robb seemed to have grown fond of the pudgy man since he had been the one to save him from the poison. It made sense that Robb had invited him to the meeting.
It took only a few minutes before Margaery realized that Sam had been named Grand Maester.
"His signature was on the paper, but it had not been written by him," Sam said. "It was your grandmother who askedthat the Citadel give me the position."
Margaery smiled and shook her head. "My grandmother rarely asks for anything. She demanded that you be given the position."
"She did," Sam chuckled. "The king's signature was just the finishing touch. I found out from the king about a month or so afterward. He admitted that he had been in agreement with me being appointed to Grand Maester, but he had not been the one to send the letter. When I asked your grandmother, do you know what she said?"
"I can only guess that it was something extremely wise," Margaery said.
"She said that she would rather have a maester who is completely loyal to the Starks and Tyrells rather than a fully-trained maester who could have divided loyalties," Sam explained.
"You may not be fully trained, but we still have an immense amount of respect for you, Grand Maester," Margaery said, hoping that the man wasn't having any doubts about his skill. "Your knowledge and assistance have been vital ever since the Long Night has become a possibility."
"I appreciate that your grace," Sam said with a bow of his head. "I have much to learn, I know that, but Archmaester Amos has told me that learning on the job has worked out so far."
"I believe so too," Margaery agreed before a thought crossed her mind. "Sam, while I have you here, I would like your opinion on something."
"Of course," Sam said.
"I've had an annoying kernel of thought in my head for the past year," Margaery explained. "All that I and others have been working towards has been to make the city cleaner and safer, but one of my ladies-in-waiting once told me that she noticed a woman giving birth surrounded by what looked to be her sister and her mother."
Sam nodded. "Some cities, such as Oldtown or White Harbor, will have healing rooms. Soldiers, sailors, and merchants get injured or sick all the same. Maesters usually serve only the noble and those of the court. It's not a law, mind you, but there's always been a problem between the smallfolk and maesters."
"These healing rooms, how many people go to them?" Margaery asked.
"Their expensive, your grace," Sam said with a shake of his head. "They're usually run by those who have some knowledge of herbs and potions, or by men who left the Citadel. A captain of the guard or a successful ship captain can afford them, but bakers, common smiths, florists, they couldn't possibly find the coin to be seen by a skilled healer. Most, when they're sick, injured, or pregnant, as your lady-in-waiting noticed, rely on their family to help them. Mothers, grandmothers, sisters, cousins, daughters. All grow up knowing something about healing, but it doesn't compare to a maester or healer."
"And villages?"
"They tend to either know a herbalist or a barber," Sam answered. "A barber is one who has gone to the Citadel and probably earned a silver link or two before leaving. The relationship between him and the villagers is vastly different than healing rooms in a city. A healing room is more business-like."
"They care more about money, you mean," Margaery said.
"Yes, your grace," Sam nodded.
"What does the Citadel do prepare their acolytes for their healing link?" Margaery asked curiously.
Sam pulled out his chain from his pocket. It was made from 6 links: three iron links that signified warfare, a copper link that signified history, a gold chain that signified sums, and a bronze link that signified astrology. The large maester had a proud look on his face, and Margaery could understand why. Here was a man who was not yet twenty and he was already halfway to becoming a full maester. Most maester Margaery knew were hadn't achieved the rank of maester until their late twenties at the earliest.
"You've earned three more," Margaery noticed, quickly digressing from her question.
"Yes, I've been working on my silver link," Sam said proudly. "Archmaester Amos has been assisting me with my studies and is confident that I will have it by the time you give birth. I am close to my black iron link as well. Maester Burton has been very helpful in the ravenry." Sam slid his chain back into his pocket. "For an acolyte to earn his silver link, he must prove adequate knowledge of the human body and know many illnesses and physical deformities as well as their cures."
"They receive no physical practice?" Margaery said.
Sam shook his head. "A few of the brighter acolytes might be asked to assist a maester, but most of the leaders of the Citadel believe that the 'trial and error' method is suitable for training to fight, not training to save a life."
"Since you are here, I believe you count among the brighter acolytes then," Margaery said with a knowing smile.
Sam blushed and bowed his head. "Archmaester Amos believes that I have potential…I want to prove him right."
"Do not doubt yourself, Sam," Margaery said kindly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Neither the king nor I do."
"Thank you, your grace. That is very kind of you to say," Sam said, raising his head. "Why did you ask about the practices of the acolytes?"
Margaery made a vague gesture with her hand. "I was wondering if it would be possible for the Citadel to open a healing room of sorts where acolytes, watched and assisted by experienced maesters, could both help the people of the city and practice healing."
Sam rubbed his thin beard thoughtfully. "It's not a terrible idea, my lady. There are perhaps two or three hundred acolytes in the Citadel. I don't believe it would be impossible for the Citadel to send some acolytes and maesters."
Margaery nodded slowly. "Would you speak to Archmaester Amos about it for me?"
Sam bowed his head. "Of course. If you would excuse me, your grace, but I must return to my studies."
Margaery gave Sam another smile. "Of course. Thank you, Sam. I enjoyed our talk."
"As did I, your grace," Sam said before disappearing into the room and leaving.