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The courtyard was filled with Free Folk and commoners alike. The mere sight would have brought her uncle to tears. Never had Driysa expected a day to come where she would be sharing a meal with a Southerner, much less a southern prince with a big fancy castle. Free Folk had been at war with those beyond the Wall for as long as her mother's mother could walk. Now they would be fighting together against something both sides feared greatly.
She placed her spear beside her, taking the soup she had been given and bringing it to her lips. The broth made her feel at home. It was so simple. Hardly any flavour. Just a soup to keep you from dying of hunger. Breathing it in, the steam kissed her face. The mere act, of drinking soup as hundreds prepared for war, made her begin to wonder about the Gods. She had never been one to believe in the Old Gods, or any God really. She had lost that feeling of trusting in a higher power quite young and had never regained it. Even when she stood by Bran's side, who seemed to have the pure power of the Old Gods flowing through him, she couldn't make herself believe in them wholeheartedly.
As she looked around the courtyard, however, she began to understand how others could put their entire trust and belief in Gods. To fight an army of the dead and expect to win, a person must put their faith in a higher power. What even was a higher power than death?
Driysa caught herself thinking. Wondering whether she should be saying a prayer to the Old Gods. Would they even hear her if she did? Or did they only answer those who believed in them their entire life? Would they laugh at the girl that turned to them in a moment of pure fear and hopelessness?
She wasn't sure.
"What are you doing all the way out here?" Bran asked, making his way over to her.
"I like the smell," Driysa shrugged, looking out at all the commoners, "I hadn't had a bath until Winterfell. Lakes and streams in Summer are much nicer,"
"I hardly noticed. You always smelt of flowers," Bran joked, earning a soft punch in the arm, "It's not like I smelt much better. None of us did,"
"You always smelled like a wolf," Driysa said wistfully, pausing as her memory pained her with thoughts of Summer, "I miss them, you know,"
"Me too,"
The two stayed silent. Remembering everyone they lost to get to the Three-Eyed Raven and back. Driysa felt a hand wrap around hers as she felt tears prickle in her eyes. The two stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime, no longer two lovers who were finally safe but two old battle companions who had seen life and death move around them with their very eyes. So much death so young. It was bound to cause scars.
"You will be in the crypt with the others?" Bran finally broke the silence, his voice hopeful.
