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IT was late morning when she heard the news.
Freya had been practicing, swinging her sword left and right on the dummy in front of her. Feathers from the double flew in her face, but she knew she needed to get the cut just right. She made a single twirl and struck the dummy – a good, clean mark. She almost had the stance down, and she kept practicing to perfect it.
Selene and Theon had found her in the barn training, and immediately rushed to the wooden gate. The barn smelt of animal piss and shit, but in moments like this, they had no time to waste. "M'lady, you must stop!" Selene bellowed, causing Freya to jolt and almost drop her sword.
She turned to her handmaiden with a confused expression, noticing her brother at Selene's side. They both looked momentarily disheveled, and the two hoped Freya hadn't guessed that they were in the midst of having sex when they heard the news. They were still keen on keeping their secret from her.
"It's Bran," Theon heaved, tired from running. "Something very bad has happened."
•••
Freya ran with her brother and handmaiden to Bran Stark's chambers, stopping abruptly at the doorframe. Catelyn Stark sat at the edge of her son's bed, knitting together a pattern and looking ever so tired. Her skin sagged and her eyes drooped. Freya hated putting pity on others, but she truly did feel sad for the mother.
Bran lay in his bed, adorned in a few furs and blankets. His eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping peacefully, but Gods knew if he'd ever wake. When Freya heard the news of his fall, she was shocked. Bran Stark was an expert climber for his age, and though falls happen often, not this boy.
"Lady Catelyn," she called, slowly walking into the room. Theon and Selene loitered by the door.
Catelyn hesitated before looking up at the girl. She released a false smile. "Hello, Freya."
Freya didn't know exactly what to say. She looked over her shoulder at Theon and Selene, who gestured for her to go forward. Freya pulled a stool next to where Bran laid, and she couldn't take her eyes off of his youthful face.
"I didn't believe it when I heard the news," she whispered to the mother. "I know the last thing you need at the moment is this, but I believe he will wake."
Catelyn watched Freya leaned down and press a kiss to Bran's cheek. The mother's hands began to tremble as she saw the hint of a smile on Freya's face. Catelyn met her eyes and asked, "Why do you believe that?"
Freya looked up, pausing her thoughts to sigh. She stood from her stool, gathering her cloak around her shoulders before muttering, "Because the Drowned God lets those important to experience death, only to return stronger."
•••
She found that the only way to distract herself from the inevitable was to practice. Sometimes, Freya liked to convince herself she was truly trying to train and harden her stance, but that was a lie in this situation. The last thing she wanted to think about was Little Bran, lying in his bed with a crying Catelyn Stark by his side. The thought of it almost made her knees weak.
Freya stood in front of the straw targets on the Winterfell common ground. Her boots sunk into the mud below as she spread them apart. The target was fifteen feet back, and if she moved an inch forward, she'd hit the bullseye. Freya moved a bit, gripping her bow tightly and pulling back on the elastic. She breathed against the bow, and she had to remind herself that in drastic times, she would not be hesitating so easily. She needed to practice more quickly.
Without a last thought, Freya released the bow string. The arrow soared right into the bullseye.
Hands clapped behind her, and Freya turned with a perplexed expression.
"Well done, Lady Freya." Jaime Lannister clapped continuously while approaching her. She wasn't quite sure if he was being sarcastic or not.
Freya lifted a brow. "Are you mocking me, Ser Jaime?"
Jaime paused, not bothering to answer her question. "I hear your bastard friend, Jon Snow, is taking up the black. You seem fairly knowledgeable with fighting. Surprised to hear you're not riding with him in disguise."
This was news to her. Why hadn't Jon told her he was joining the Night's Watch? She should've known something fishy was going on when Jon wouldn't leave Benjen Stark's side all night. She knew that Ned was leaving with Sansa and Arya, for he had accepted Robert Baratheon's offer as the new Hand of the King, but Jon was leaving too?
"My life is at Winterfell," she answered with a false smile. "It's not like I can leave here, anyways."
Jaime flipped some of his shining, blonde hair from his features. "Ah, yes, you're a ward, aren't you?" He asked, to which Freya nodded. "Is that a new term for 'hostage?'"
Freya's face fell. Gods, how could anyone stand this man? It was a good thing the courting had been a disaster. She didn't know who could put up with marrying this git.
She slowly walked forward to the Lannister, her heels clicking into the mud. "You have a pretty face, Ser Jaime." She swung her bow around her back. "It'd be a shame if someone cut it up, don't you think?"
"You would be arrested for assaulting the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." Jaime laughed bitterly.
Freya rolled her eyes before walking back over to the target. "What else do I have to live for?" She muttered, plucking the arrow from the straw. She looked back at where Jaime stood, realizing he was gone. Smart boy.
She was ready to send another arrow to the target when she spotted Jon Snow hoisting a saddle onto his shoulders. His usual cloak hung high on his collar, and Freya guessed he was leaving. She dropped her weapon and sprinted over to meet him.
Robb then walked beside him, making Freya frown. "You've said goodbye to Bran?" Robb asked his brother. "He's not going to die. I know it."
"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon muttered with a smile.
"My mother?"
Jon threw the saddle onto his stallion. "She was very kind."
Freya finally met up with them at Jon's horse, her hands on her hips. "It looks like no one tells me anything." She turned to Jon. "Why didn't you mention that you were joining the Night's Watch?"
"Because you'd tell everyone, Greyjoy," Robb grumbled, earning a glare from Freya.
"I only decided last night, Freya." He paused before giving her a tight hug. Freya took a moment to appreciate Jon Snow, because she'd truly miss his presence. He always understood her, but now she'd have to get used to not seeing him roaming around.
Jon then went to hug his brother. "Next time I see you, you'll be all in black," Robb muffled.
The bastard boy beamed. "It was always my color." He looked at the two of them. "Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."
Freya flashed a grin. "No promises."
"Farewell, Snow," Robb sighed.
"And you, Stark." Jon recited, before glancing at Freya. "Greyjoy."
Freya nodded her head as a goodbye while the two brothers hugged again. Their arms wrapped around each other tightly, but they soon had to let go. Robb gave his brother one last hard look before walking away. Freya continued to stand and watch Jon gather his things. He got on his horse, following Lord Stark and the rest of the Baratheon and Lannister army to the Kingsroad.
