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WOLVES howled outside her window that night. It had been almost a month since Bran's fall, and days were getting longer.
Freya had her shutters open so she could stare out at the world below her tower. It looked like a barren abyss during the night. She rested her chin on her fist as she allowed the coolness of the air run through her. Candles were lit in the crevices of her chambers while a fire was blazing in her hearth, providing some warmth to the room. Selene casually brushed through her hair before they went to sleep.
"I had never asked before, in fear that you seemed upset, but I cannot sit by any longer with no answer." Selene uttered softly. "Did you court with Jaime Lannister during the banquet a month prior?"
Freya sighed and nodded her head.
"Well?" Selene inquired. "I'm guessing it did not go as well as I hoped, seeing as you did not march South with Lord Stark."
"He's a twat," she exhaled. "Walked away from me as soon I got near him, and then insulted me the next morning. It gave Robb Stark some good material though."
Selene scoffed. "You do not need to listen to wailings of Robb Stark. There's a twat for you."
"It wouldn't have ever worked anyways," Freya muttered.
"Why is that?" asked the handmaiden, who was putting down her brush.
Freya turned, a smile etched on her face. "I would never marry someone who's more attractive than me."
Selene was smiling too, in a jestful sort of way, but when she glanced up, her face held a mask of horror. She pointed outside the window, muttering, "M'lady –"
Freya immediately spun back to her open shutter, seeing flames swell up in the distance. It was the barn, she supposed. The barn was on fire.
She stood, but didn't move. What could she really do? As she struggled with options, a scream was heard through the entire castle, shaking it's walls. Freya knew that voice: "Lady Catelyn," she mumbled, before turning to her handmaiden. "Stay here, Selene. Use this for your protection, if you need it." She grabbed her small blade she kept underneath her pillow and put it in Selene's hands. "I'll be back. Do not leave."
Freya hoisted her scabbard onto her hips before taking off into a sprint. The scream came from below, and she only guessed it was from Bran's room. Catelyn hadn't left there in a month, nor was she going to. Freya's legs moved faster than they ever had, and just as she was nearing the room, she pulled her sword out of it's sheath. Another scream sounded. Male.
Was Rickon okay? Where was Robb? Where was her brother?
When she arrived at Bran's door, Catelyn Stark was bending over her son's bedside, hands soaked in blood. Freya's hands shook with anxiety, causing her sword to look less menacing. Bran's direwolf, Summer, laid next to Catelyn sheepishly, blood covering his nuzzle. She guessed Robb had seemingly just arrived too, because he kneeled on the floor over a body, blood pouring from an open wound in the neck. A knife laid in the hands of the decapitated body.
