A touchy reunion

[Loreia]

Biting sky claws soft cheeks and dries nosebleed. Eyes expel sweet moisture instantly snatched away. Lips fold as winter takes them in hand, squeezing, scrunching. Standing tall and proud, mouth clamped shut, Loreia tries to conceal how much the cold is affecting her. She folds her arms over bear fur, warming and cloaking her in the form of a winter coat.

"
Let me look at you, girl."


Unbeknownst to the land party, someone had been sent ahead of them to warn the would-be guide, one of whom took issue with the use of her last name to refer to a local hermit. Loreia holds fast as the candidate for a guide draws near, wrapped in a thick fur cloak and pantaloons thick as a noble's bed blankets, and less than half as fine. She is the face of the Crone herself, wearing the Mother's grace over her fading beauty. Brown amber eyes browse her features, studying her face as a mystic would read a palm. "
I won't say that you look like your mother, that's a bit of a stretch,"
she chuckles to herself, "
but I can see the resemblance."


Rheya, a name a local tribe dropped to refer them to this old hag. Mayhaps they took note of her reaction and to trick her. Loreia was not impressed. Keep this up, and I will kill you once we no longer need you. "
What do your people want with me? Why pretend you know my family?"


"
Family,"
she echoes, unfazed by her attitude. It was one she was familiar with. "
Not 'parents'? Of course, how in seven hells would Storm Hammer an' Bluebird stop at just one?"


Loreia's stoic indifference falters.

"
Aye, those are there names. I see much of your father in your face - your cheeks, your chin. You have your mother's nose and eyes, though. You have a look about you, a lot like your mother when I saw her last."


Eyes narrowing, Loreia raises her guard once again, tension thick in the air between the two of them and Yoren. "
What were their real names?"


"
Ahah, the test of knowledge is not over,"
she cackles with amusement. "
Very well, they were Maya and Wylan. I was honored, they were going to name you after your uncle Lorcan, and me."
When her alleged granddaughter's stone face cracks beneath her facade, she adds, "
Search your heart, Loreia, you know it to be true."


She loosens her tight lipped frown, trying to reason how this stranger would know that. Yoren's face and behavior betray nothing that says he told her, in a quick glance at him. Rheya knows enough about her to guess the name of a person her grandmother never met. Coupled with the fact that Loreia hadn't been born before her mother was taken, there can be no other explanation. A knot forms in her chest, accompanied by telltale signs of a mix of emotion as the space between them starts to cave.

"
You, you're really..."


"
Come here, child."

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fiery tongues lick the cold air, warming it as far as the logs arranged around them. Loreia and her grandmother sit on the dry wood around a fire in quiet, windless darkness, swapping stories on watch - Rheya insisted that Loreia start first, since she had more to tell, and now it was her turn. Badger lies on an animal pelt nearby, remiss to be away from his master while she is yet awake and allowing him to be near. Loreia believes she understands what it's like for dogs when their masters are away, and when they finally return. Still, she feels a pang of guilt when she catches him shivering. Her mind races back to Cider Hall;
horses, cider, and spring air. The memory scarce makes the place she finds herself in more bearable. I'm no more at home up here than Jorah's Dornish half.

"
They didn't use me like a toy, or throw me around like meat for wolves. It was children they were after, nothing more. Beyond that, I was free to live as one of them."


Despite her newfound, quickly sated longing for companionship with a flesh and blood relative, it is quickly overshadowed by a new want. "
What happened then?"


"
After I gave them the children they wanted,"
she answers plainly, "
I needed some space. I whelped them, mothered them, but they belonged to their fathers, not me. I'd be lying if I said they didn't grow on me,"
she chuckles, laughing at her pun. "
But, I'd be deceiving myself if I stayed. Sometimes they come to visit, but as far as they're concerned, I crawled up into that cave to die."


Loreia scrunches her brow. Some family they were. "
So, why do you still live with them? You can come home with us, Gran. Come home with me to Castle Grenward."


"
You assume I didn't try?"
Rheya stirred the fire and put another dry log on the cinders. "
The moment I was turned loose, I tried going through the Wall, but the Crows almost killed me. Said I looked as wild as any they'd met before, and that I was too old, as if that was the nail in the door. So I returned to the tribe, and they welcomed me far more warmly than the Night's Watch. This was before I left for good. The gods have decided that chapter of my story is over, child. Besides, I'm old and I don't feel like doing any more traveling. My place is here."


"
Here among thieves and rapers. They attack our homes and steal our food, they stole you!"


Rheya gives her granddaughter a stern look. "
Have you ever had to eat your own horse? What about your dog? There's no greed or lust in what good free folk do, beyond the will to live up here. Unlike the kings and lords of the south, they don't make rules to permit themselves to do terrible things."


"
The south? You ought to live in the North under the Starks to talk like that."
Loreia's tone flares with indignation. "
I finally meet the one livin' relative I have left, and she wants me to forget about her! And as for our rulers and knee bendin', no matter where you go, the strong an' powerful'll be tellin' you how to live and how to do things proper."


"
And no matter where you go, people always find an excuse to be terrible to each other. The nobles just turn on a wheel that tells them when it's all right."
Rheya shakes her head. "
Lay down, girl. Go wake Yoren and get some sleep."


Holding back a petulant retort, she rises from her seat, which disturbs and rouses her pet. "
You stay."
Stay here and keep watch with my fool grandmother.

[Loreia]

Snow compresses with powdery impact under each foostep. Loreia and Rheya range ahead of the expedition along the Milkwater's northern tributary. The Frostfangs along the left, and a few mountains on the right, tower above the river, a stern warning to any would-be explorers using it as a road leading them to Thenn. Along the right side, groves of trees huddle together and serve as a prelude to the Haunted Forest.

"
Many of the Free Folk would take insult with your friend's expedition,"
Rheya warns. "
The south mans the Wall to keep them out, and he wants to come north to trade, have a little business as usual? It's a bold gesture."


"
He's a bold man."
Loreia keeps up behind her, keeping an eye on the mountains while glancing at the treeline every now and then. "
Time across the Narrow Sea's changed him, though. Or maybe he was always like that. Either way, I hope that matters when we reach the Thenns."


"
Oh I heard, girl. He didn't spare me from an earful of the Lord of Light. I will admit, a fire god would be most welcome up here, if he'd only visit and melt away the cold. What about you?"


"
Why do you care?"
she snubs.

"
Should I not be interested in my living legacy? And speaking of which, I'd like to invest a change in that attitude, young lady."


Loreia absentmindedly gazes at the peaks of the Frostfangs, idly contemplating the grey expanse which has heralded the coming of winter for decades. Is there an Old God of the sky? Or many gods of the "
skies"
? "
The Lord of Light insists on abandonin' all other gods as gods, no more than 'truths' in His eyes."


Rheya grunts her understanding. "
So, no conversion then?"
she asks, alluding to Loreia's adherence to the faith of the Seven.

Just then, Badger growls softly at the treeline. "
Wait,"
she shushes, pointing ahead of their trail. He growls again, punctuating with a whimper after being shushed by his master. Ahead of them, three wolves emerge from the treeline, necks arched, coats bristling as they stare down the creatures remaining still in front of them. Rising to full height, Loreia sticks her hand in front of her grandmother.

"
Badger, heel."


She raises her arms forward and begins speaking forcefully, almost like a mother to a child. The wolves bluff, edging from where they are, and in response, Loreia draws a dagger and bangs on her shield but once, waving the canines towards the trees, continuing to speak of no meat for them, and rabbits in the woods. Rheya follows her lead, raising her voice to threaten the strays. After about five seconds, the wolves whimper and move on, deciding rather quickly that circling around to drag off the dog isn't worth the hassle thanks to Loreia's initiative and matronly austerity.

She puts her dagger and shield away. "
I'll never convert to the Drowned God, no matter how real he turns out to be."


Rheya bends down to comfort Loreia's pet. "
My legacy is looking more promising by the day."
The pride in her tone doesn't get past her granddaughter.

"
They won't alert the pack, but I'm not lettin' my dog get picked off from behind later. Let's wait for the others to catch up before movin' on."

[Loreia]

Horses bray a few yards from the comfort of the fire, where Loreia and others squat, huddled about. Remiss to leave its lulling warmth, she pries herself up and away from her squat to run toward the animals' distress. As she arrives at a group of a few horses, the expedition's collective herd separated into more than one, she sees a few soldiers and the Fossoway breeder who tagged along.

"
Loreia, good, over here,"
he calls her over. She recognized him as one of the horsemasters at Cider Hall. "
While they're out investigating, help me calm the horses."


Loreia speaks in hushed, warm tones, approaching slowly. The horse she's with continues to knicker and stir until she's close enough to stroke its mane. As she does, it's stirring resides until it remains still, and another she'd been glancing at, and edging toward while reaching out to the first, calms from the sight, finding reassurance in her interaction with the other. She repeats this with another pair, and by then she and the breeder have managed to calm the small herd.

"
Well done. Anyone could see you were a natural at Cider Hall."


She smiles to herself at his comment. Not well-loved in the Riverlands since her success and graceful yield in the tourney, the breeders and beast trainers at Cider Hall seemed to shrug it off regardless, winning them over even a little with her experience and affinity with animals. The investigating men, two soldiers and a trapper, return a minute later, scuffed and recovering normal breath. The trapper hauls a large burlap sack behind him, stained from repeated use over the long months, and smelling fresh. Yoren returns with them.

"
Took care of the problem, biggest cat I'd ever seen. Yoren says it's called a shadow,"
says one warrior shortly corrected thereafter, a few claw marks splitting his fur coat livery.

Later, the trappers hang the cat up by a tree branch to skin and gut by the fire, while Loreia takes her shift near the horses. A Morningstar soldier brings some meat out to her and a waterskin, which feels steaming warm to the touch.

"
Thought you might want some before they salt it,"
he explains. "
Water's hot, to fight the cold."


She takes pops a bite-sized piece. A little bland from lack of seasoning, stringy, and coarse. Acceptable. With a little salt, it might even taste better than chicken.

"
You should toss a few scraps to Badger,"
he continues. "
Between the lot of the trappers, they caught another horse chased into us on its lonesome, with your hound trailin' after like before."


"
He'll get some,"
she affirms, swelling with pride despite the cold, "
but not a lot. We caught a break tonight, and we need to make it last."


"
True enough. Damned cold up here, even our beasts can't wait to get back home."


"
Aye, I'm with you there."
She opens the waterskin to take a drink. Better than lukewarm. "
Keep to the fire, the beasts'll hold their own."


He nods as Rheya comes to wave him off. "
Take care of your hound."


Loreia keeps her focus between the horses and the darkness in the woods beyond the camp, chewing her meat, reluctant to acknowledge her ancestor of two generations standing beside her. "
I'm impressed as well. That something the horsemasters of the south tought you? Our people could learn a thing or two."


"
No,"
she answers stoically. Not viable for horses, which run much faster than hounds, but viable to turn their skittish behavior against them into trappers and horse breakers lying in wait - ideally. "
And besides, I haven't seen much cavalry up here. Not any, really. Oh, did you mean my people?"


Rheya only shakes her head. "
Why so testy, Loreia? I've only saved your life. Pretty soon I'll have a scar to prove it, thanks to your maester."


A pause. There are a couple of reasons, one being convincing her to take prisoners of wildlings;
although, perhaps ransom is just the kind of fate they deserved. They had gained more from the victory than simply killing the enemy, mayhaps an honorable way to steal. Serves them right. "
We're halfway to Hardhome now."
That being up to the guide - who'd never been out this far east beyond the Wall - and the map.

"
Ah."
She sighs. "
I don't know what I can say to make you understand. Besides, I'm one of them now, aren't I?"


"
I watched everyone in our family die."
Serious and somber reasoning coming from the heart proves difficult to put into words as she puts some effort into sounding them out. "
Uncle killed by wildlings, Mother killed by Ironmen. Father, my little brother Arlyn, both sick an' dyin' on a bed of straw an' furs. It's just you and me, now."


Rheya touches Loreia's arm. "
And soon we'll say goodbye, dear one. You must. Could be I get my throat torn by a shadowcat on my way back to the Frostfangs. Maybe I crawl into my cave and die a year later. I'm not long for this world, an' bein' present for my passing later will only make it harder."


Nothing. Silence in the face of a real reason instead of excuses. Or just a convincing excuse? It doesn't matter.

"
You understand, don't you?"
she asks.

Inhaling sharply, Loreia stifles the frog in her throat. Gran wraps her arms around her granddaughter and begins humming softly. She couldn't make it easier, but she could ease the burden. Taking her arm, Loreia turns to the side to lean into her.

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