Clandestine. 》 Tyrion Lannister 《

Goodbye

She fidgeted restlessly on the makeshift chair her father had honed out of an old tree stump. She might as well have sat on one of Sansa's pincushions - it would probably be more comfortable.

She imagined herself as a five foot tall, brown haired block of ice. Her fingers were like icicles hanging from her hands, her toes could cool even the hottest of drinks, and her face felt like the ice of The Wall - at least what she thought it would feel like, anyway. She held her knees tightly to her chest, hoping to stop the shivers that overtook her whole body; she was shaking like a leaf from head to toe.

She would never admit it, but her father was right to make her go to Winterfell on that first night. They would have had to thaw her out over a fire the next morning.

She gawked at her father's reddening face, his eyes were as round as apples, she thought. As round as the apples they shoved in a boar's mouth before roasting him.

Oh, how she longed for a chunk of boar and an apple. She could taste the salty, savory meat on her tongue, and she could feel the sweet crunch of a crisp, juicy apple against her teeth. It had taken her so long to get here, and she was starving!

"Galena!" His voice echoed off of the cave's walls as his irritation became apparent.

She jumped at the suddenness of his anger, almost falling off of her stump. She grabbed onto the side of it, the tiny, thin slivers of wood digging their way into the tips of her fingers. She shook her hands to rid them of the pain, and shook her head to refocus her thoughts.

“I told you I would meet you when you wanted to see me!” He waved his hands about, reminding her of the awe she felt when she watched him and her uncle practice their swordplay on each other. “But instead you make the trip by yourself?! What were you thinking?!”

She hadn't heard him yell like this since the night she and Robb decided to take their horses out in the middle of the night. They were bound and determined to find out what killed the mother of their direwolves. Both of their fathers forbade it, but when did that ever stop them?

They got as far as the treeline before they heard the snapping of twigs behind them. They were sure they were about to find out exactly what killed their pups’ mother, and they were going to share her fate. Instead, they received a very strong tongue lashing from their fathers, complete with every word a Lady was never supposed to hear or say. Her aunt would have seriously admonished them if she knew of it.

She contemplated turning on the fake tears, just like she did that night, but she knew they wouldn't work. If they didn't work all those years ago when she and Robb thought they were going to die, they sure as hell wouldn't work now.

She repressed the urge to smile at the memory of Robb. If there was mischief to be had, she and Robb weren't far behind. What if it were Robb who was alive instead of Jon, she wondered. Would she even be in this mess? She bit her lip and lowered her eyes, staring at the harden ground at her feet. She was ashamed for even allowing the thought to enter her mind.

She quickly pushed away her guilt. If her father saw her grief-stricken face, he would assume she felt bad about showing up in his home - or whatever it was he called this damned cave. She didn't feel bad at all, though. She made it there alive, like she knew she would, and to be honest, she was sick of everyone underestimating her. Well, everyone but… She wrenched her hands together as if she was wringing out a wet blouse. She couldn't think about him right now.

“I don’t know,” she said, raising and lowering her shoulders repeatedly, again having to rid her mind of yet another memory.

He sat down on a large rock across from her and rubbed his hands harshly against his face. “A fortnight!” He raised his hand in the air and let it fall loudly against his thigh. “No, I'm sorry! A fortnight and a half! On your own! And on the Kingsroad! You could have been killed!”