Savages - LolaStark

A/N: Some of the dialogue in one part of this chapter are from the book. Credit goes to GRRM. Most, however, was revised and the non-dialogue is mine. Thank you.

Chapter 7

[Kathryn]

"Where is she?" Catelyn asked, causing Kathryn to turn her head as she rolled her eyes out of view. It was all anyone had asked for the last week. Where was Fallon? Was she alright? It was enough to drive Kathryn mad.

"She hasn't left the tower, Enat says it's Skagosi custom to mourn in solitude," Robb replied. Catelyn nodded.

"She's been fasting as well," Kathryn added. "Nasty business, that. She will be nothing but withered bones by the end of the mourning period."

No one said anything. It took her a long moment to realize why. As Robb stared at her with wide eyes she then realized she had probably offended Lady Stark, who had lost much weight in her own mourning period. In order to save the embarrassment she thought up something else to distract them.

"My father has written me from King's Landing," she told them and this time Catelyn perked slightly. Kathryn smiled. "He says when Lord Stark arrives, any day now, he will plan several suppers with him, and the girls of course. I know Sansa will thrive in the South. It is such a wonderful climate for a flower like your daughter. My sisters dote on her," she told the woman. Catelyn smiled slightly until glancing back to Bran. "He wishes you all well, and sends his prayers for Bran's health."

"Thank you Kathryn," Robb said sincerely. "That is very kind of your family."

"It is nothing surely, especially since our families will soon become one." Robb sighed at this comment, as Kathryn had expected he would. No one was very fond of speaking of the wedding as of late. She tried to remind them that was why she was here, stuck up in the North, to begin with.

But no one was in the mood for a wedding.

That was why Kathryn prayed for Bran's health, probably harder than anyone. She prayed to the Seven that he would get well soon and spare the heartache and mourning of the Stark family. She knew if Bran died, there would be no wedding, at least not for a long while. She was tired of waiting.

"Robb," she said sweetly. He looked over at her. "Would you be so kind as to take me for a walk outside. Today's the first time it has not rained in days." He hesitated for only a moment before smiling slightly and nodding.

Kathryn took his arm as they walked out of the room, leaving Bran and his mother in silence as they'd been for so long. It was a lovely afternoon, the sun finally shining above them. The grounds were still damp but it only gave her an excuse to lift her skirts a little higher to avoid the mud. A few times, she caught Robb glance at the exposed skin of her calf as he helped her over a fallen tree trunk.

"When do you think we will be wed?" she asked, not bothering any more to be subtle. She could tell the question surprised Robb. But that was when he was most honest. She could read him the best when he was caught off guard.

"I..." he started. "I am sure it won't be long, My Lady." It was a good enough answer for most girls. Most girls would have been comforted by Robb's optimism. But Kathryn wasn't like most girls.

"I think we shouldn't wait too long. I know your father will be busy in King's Landing. My father told me how demanding the lifestyle in the capital is. He might not be back to Winterfell for a year even."

"But won't you want your family here? For the wedding?"

"You're my family now," she said, the words tactically chosen. She could see the expression on his face, watched as he took in her words and grinned warmly. It was a nice look on his face, one that was charming enough that she felt somewhat at ease. But she wouldn't be satisfied until Robb Stark said his vows to her.

"I am most happy to hear that you feel that way," he said, squeezing her hand lightly and she stepped closer to him. This spot would do, she thought as she placed her hand on his chest. He looked down at the small hand, decorated in ornate rings that rested on his tunic.

"You can kiss me if you'd like," she said, just as she had said the handful of other times to him. And he did as he always did. He thought for several moments before he leaned in and placed his lips over hers, his hand on her waist and his stubble against her face. She found it irritating, the feeling of stubble scratching her soft skin. She'd be sure he'd shave before she let him kiss her again.

They were nothing like Loras' kisses.

She'd kissed Loras Tyrell three times in her life. Three extraordinary kisses that would live on in her memory for a long while. They kept her thoughts occupied on the long days she spent in the solar, embroidering flowers on tunics to send back to the Reach for Loras. He usually sent letters in return, sometimes with lavish gifts. But lately, the letters had slowed to almost a halt.

Now all she had was Robb and his scratchy beard and clammy hands. She pulled hers away and brushed her golden hair behind her ear.

"I will be a great wife Robb, I promise you that," she told him as she leaned over and whispered in his ear. She then stepped away with a wide smile, looking back over her shoulder at him with a flirtatious smile.

She had chosen that spot for a reason.

She didn't have to look up at the tower to know they were in perfect view for a specific pair of wandering eyes to catch view of their small tryst. She knew that there would be eyes on the way she touched Robb's chest and toyed with his hair. Eyes would be watching closely as she leaned in and kissed Robb a second time. They wouldn't see her cringe from the stubble, only see their mouths touching easily and the smile on her face as she pulled away.

It would be very easy for the pair of green eyes, peering out the tower's window, to see that Kathryn was making a pretty loud statement with her actions.

Kathryn would be Lady of Winterfell one day. It was time people started realizing that she didn't play games. But when she did...

….she always won.

[Catelyn]

The sun had nearly set over the forest. The sky was erupting with lavish colors hanging in the clouds. She could see it out the small window and she wondered how many sunsets had passed now, how many she had missed.

The figure that sat at Bran's bedside also peering out the window, a gaze that Catelyn recognized very well, knowing what grief and sorrow felt like, therefore what it must look like. Fallon's frail form was concerning. She immediately inquired to her health as the girl entered the room some time earlier, but the question was merely brushed off with a humorous reply, Fallon's forte.

They had sat there, a long time, in silence, waiting for something to say to the other. But that something never came. They only watched Bran's chest fall and rise, and then watched the sun begin it's decent in the sky.

"He'd probably fancy a story," Catelyn said, her voice once again hoarse from lack of use. Fallon looked away from the window and over to Catelyn who tried her best to look as though she was trying to comfort the girl. She knew Fallon told stories to help Bran, to help Catelyn. But she also knew that they were told to comfort Fallon. Stories of home always helped Catelyn as well when she first moved to Winterfell. It was no different for the girl who was so far from Skagos.

"I think I've run out of stories," Fallon said, her voice quiet, matching the frailty in her form, the black circles under her eyes.

"Try something about you," Catelyn suggested. "Maybe you'll find some inspiration there."

Fallon looked unsure as she sat there, steadying her breaths to rise and fall with Bran's. Catelyn thought of saying something else to urge her but before she got a chance Fallon opened her mouth and began as she always did.

"It was long ago," she whispered, her voice already beginning to break. "There was a family who lived on the main island. They were a noble family, known all throughout the land for their honor and courage. Men feared the Magnar, fore he was the hand to unite the tribes, the warrior who had struck down the rogue clans in the last winter battle."

She paused, pulling a rag from a bowl of lukewarm water and ringing it out before placing it on Bran's face. She wiped him down, cleaned his neck and his ears, then his chest and his hands as she spoke.

"The Magnar had seven children, a very blessed number in Skagosi customs. He had four great sons to carry on the Magnar name, and three lovely daughters who would bring honor to their house as well.

"One day, the youngest daughter ran through the halls, searching for her mother who was hidden away in the bedchamber. She could hear the screams of her mother, the labored shouts and waves of fury. The sound frightened her. The daughter was just a child you see, only four years since her first name day.

"When she finally found the chamber she peeked through the doors to find a new set of cries, a cry of innocence entering the world in the form of her new baby brother. He was a fine child, strong features of the Mangar, her mother had said. The child was a mess, damp and sticky, something the girl thought she'd rather not see.

"But her mother called her forward, had her sit upon the bed as she held the child in her arms. The young girl looked down at the boy who was to be her brother and then stared back up at her mother. 'What is he to be called,' she asked her mother who smiled. 'We will call him, Corran.'" Fallon paused as she grabbed Bran's hand in hers, fighting back the tears Catelyn could see hanging in her eyes.

"Corran would grow to be a magnificent child. One day, the girl took Corran on an adventure. They traveled through the mountains on horseback for nearly a fortnight together, tracking wild boars. It was Corran's first hunt, and the brothers of the Magnar had entrusted the girl to oversee his first kill.

"It was the twelfth night of the hunt before Corran had found his prize beast. The girl watched as he pulled back the bow on the back of the horse, his elbow high, just as their brother had taught him. The girl had never been a good archer, her talent only lie in the sword and the spear. But as Corran reached back his arrow, ready to be let loose, she knew he would make the kill. And he did.

"But they weren't the only ones trying to claim their prize. The girl had dismounted with a smile on her face as they approached the carcass and that's when another beast appeared in the clearing. Skagos is teeming with wild boar in the forests. But the island is also full of bears. The girl had never come across a bear in her life. She had only heard stories of the beasts that stood taller than most men.

"This day she would see the first. It was a large bear, full grown with sharp teeth and long claws. She was standing between it and the boar. The smell of it's death drove the bear to a craze. She didn't have time to pull her sword as the bear swatted her to the ground like a battering ram. She could feel the bones snape from the force but the bear was not through with her yet. Her only chance was to escape, and to lead the bear away from her young brother.

"She reached for her sword, pulling it from it's sheath and lifting it high. But as she brought it down, it only angered the bear more. Her sword was lodged deep in the bear's chest but it kept forward, swiping at her as she rolled quickly out of the way. But she could only crawl away for so long before the bear caught up, pressed it's large clawed paw against her chest, pinning her to the ground. She had come to her end, she knew it would be now as the bear pulled it's other paw into the air.

"But it never struck her, much to her surprise. One minute she was welcoming death, the next, an arrow shot straight through the beast's eye. It stumbled backwards until it fell, landing on the ground with a loud thump, from just a single blow.

"The girl looked to see where the arrow had come from, and from atop his horse, she saw Corran sitting there with his bow in his hand. He had saved her life from the bear's clutches."

Catelyn could see Fallon meant to continue, but she paused for a long while as she tried to hide the tears falling down her cheeks. She placed Bran's hand against her face as she sobbed. Catelyn could feel the tears welling up inside her now, as she watched Fallon's pain. But she had no words to comfort the girl. What could she say that would ease the girl's sorrow? When she herself was feeling the same sense of sorrow and dread deep down within her as well. There was nothing that could be said to her, and there was nothing she, in turn, could say to Fallon that would bring her family back.

Fallon kissed the boy's hand before placing it back on his stomach and standing from her spot and walking out the door before saying another word. She didn't so much as glance in Catelyn's direction as she rushed out. She only heard a muffled 'I'm sorry' from the hall and then Robb's voice quickly followed. But there was no reply, at least not one that Catelyn could hear. Instead Maester Luwin and Robb entered the room, the latter of the two looking at his mother curiously. She could only shake her head.

"Let her grieve," she whispered, ignoring the fact that the Maester carried the account books in his hand. He'd want to talk about the accounts, about the figures that they'd spent since the Royal Visit. But she had no interest.

"My lady," he argued when she asked him to take the books away. "It has come time to discuss the King's visit. We must replenish our stores before-"

"I have no interest, Maester Luwin. Go to the steward, he will attend to our needs." She was in no mood. After seeing Fallon so full of sorrow and pain, more pain than any young girl should face, and then with Bran lying here, still closed off from the world. There was nothing she wanted to see that wasn't her son's eyes opening and his health returned.

"My Lady we have no steward," the Maester replied. "Poole is with Lord Eddard." She remembered. Of course she remembered. But why was this important, why did she need to know this now? Did they not see she was needed here? "There are several appointments that require your immediate attention, my lady. Besides the steward, we need a captain of the guards to fill Jory's place, a new master of horse-"

"A master of horse?!" she said harshly. "My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin and you wish to discuss a new master of horse?" Was he blind to her grief? "Go!"

"Yes my lady, but the appointments-"

"I'll make the appointments," Robb replied. "We'll go over them in the morning." The Maester nodded.

"Very good, My Lord," he replied before exiting the room, just as quickly as Fallon had.

Once the door was closed behind him, Robb glanced towards Catelyn with a look of disappointment and confusion. She knew he was upset, but she hadn't been in the right mindset to be concerned about that now. All her energy was in one place, and that was here with her little boy.

"Mother," he said. "What are you doing?"

She didn't want to argue. She didn't care for upsetting her children, which was what the expression on Robb's hard face read now. But as she began to explain her point, things got heated between them. Robb tried to tell her that she was neglecting everyone else but Catelyn simply didn't agree. Bran needed her of course. What more could she do when all her efforts were needed here.

"I can't leave him," she added to her long list of reasoning. "not when any moment could be his last." She took Bran's hand in her own, fighting tears just as Fallon had not long before her. She could still feel the girl's tears on Bran's soft skin and it only made her stomach sink lower as she cried.

"He's not going to die, Mother," Robb said softly. She liked his voice much better that way. It was kinder, and understanding. "Maester Luwin said-"

"And what if he is wrong?" she said with a strained voice. "What if something were to happen and I was not here? Bran needs me by his side."

"Rickon needs you!" he said, this time, his voice raised. "He doesn't understand what's happening. He follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don't know what to do with him. Mother, I need you too. I'm trying but I can't...I can't do it all by myself. And now with Fallon and her family. I just-"

Catelyn wanted to go to him. To hold him in her arms just as he would when he was a child. She had forgotten he was still young. He may have been a man now, but eighteen was still very young to have so much responsibility thrust on him so quickly. But she couldn't move. Bran needed her, she couldn't leave his side. Not until he woke up.

Outside the sound of the direwolves howling was growing louder. It was a mournful sound. She heard them often, yipping and barking outside on the grounds. But now the sound was overwhelming, distracting. It didn't comfort her, only frustrated her as she sat there, trembling with grief with her eldest son pleading with her in one corner and her next son broken and helpless in the other. She couldn't think.

"I can't stand it anymore!" she shouted, covering her ears. "Make them stop!"

Robb walked over to the window reluctantly, pulling one side closed as he stared out mindlessly, listening to the howls of Grey Wind, Summer and Shaggydog. But as he started to pull the other half closed he paused and Catelyn saw him staring off into the distance, his expression changing from frustration to fear.

"Fire," he said in a desperate whisper. It was his voice that shook, just as her hands did when she heard him speak the words. She immediately stood, tried to figure out how they would move Bran from his bed without bending him. But Robb stopped her. "Not here, in the Library Tower!" he shouted then and Catelyn's weary mind could not comprehend his urgency. He seemed to understand her confusion as he started to run accross the room. "Fallon's rooms!" he explained and Catelyn now seemed to understand. "Stay here," he commanded but Catelyn had no intention of leaving.

She was on one hand worried for Fallon, praying that the girl had not fled back to her chamber after she left this room. But on the other she was thankful it was in no danger to Bran. The fire would never reach the Keep of rooms. They would be safe. She only now how to pray for Fallon.

As she turned from the window, watching the smoke rise above the tower, she saw a figure that wasn't there before. A man.

"You weren't s'posed to be here," he muttered sourly. "No one was s'posed to be here."

[Fallon]

Heat.

It was the only thing she could feel on the outside. The inside was pure fear.

She had been lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling when she began to smell the smoke. It was coming from outside her door, from down the stairwell in the Library perhaps. She had already pulled out of her dress, leaving her in a dressing gown and the robe that she'd wrapped around her. She had planned to retire for the night, ignoring the sound of her aching stomach or the memory of Robb's helpless expression as she'd passed him in the hall.

But the smell had distracted her from her plans. And then quickly the sound of something rushing through her window was heard followed by a bring flash against the stone wall. Her curtains were the first to go up in the flames, the next was the vanity. She pulled the water from her washbowl, and splashed it against her curtains. It didn't do much but cause a bit of steam to sizzle against her skin, scalding her flesh slightly.

She tried to pull the curtains down but they could not extinguish the fire that had already began to rage around the room. She smothered what she could with her thin robe, but had nothing else to put out the rest. So she fled. She ran towards the door, and pulled at the handle, only to find it snug in place. The door was locked, she thought. Why was it locked? She pulled harder, to no avail, finding herself trapped in the tower that only she was housed in.

She began pounding on the door, shouting in the rare chance that someone could hear. The fire was large now, the smoke filling the room. She covered her face with her arm that was bare, the thin garb of her nightgown unfit to guard her lungs from the thick substance that caused her to cough.

No one would hear her up here, she realized, searching to room. Her eyes fell upon a chair, the only thing that might be strong enough to beat down the door. She lifted it quickly, squinting through the smoky room. Her eyes began to burn as she lifted the chair and hit it with all her strength against the door. Three times she hit it, then four, then five. The door didn't budge.

"Help!" she shouted again, through her coughs. She was helpless, weak, unable to save herself as she'd done so many times before. "Help!" she shouted again, this time her voice unable to reach it's normal range as she inhaled too much smoke and fell to her knees in a coughing fit.

The floor was cooler, but not by much. Still the smoke worked slowly to smother her from air. Her lungs burned from the ashy substance and she cringed with every breath. She repeated her cry until she started to feel the heat growing stronger on her back. She didn't dare look behind her, she didn't want to see how close she was to death. If she was to perish now, she thought, let it be swift.

Something made her think of her story right then, the way the bear looked down at her with lust or her flesh, the way she welcome death should that be the gods' will. But now, as the fire burn hot, she felt a sudden urge to live. She did not want to die. She was not ready to die. Despite the aching she'd felt in her heart over the last few days, something was holding her to this world and she was not ready to give up on it without a fight.

So she stood to her feet, holding on to the door as she lifted herself upright. And she pounded her fists against the door. She wasn't sure how long she did this. She lost track of how many times her fists pushed themselves into the wooden door. She could feel the skin become raw from the impact and then she felt them begin to bleed slightly, the force leaving scratches against her flesh.

"Fallon!" she heard and it sounded like a dream. A voice that had plagued her thoughts, the voice so divine that the gods must have sent it to distract her from the pain. "Fallon! Are you in there!?" It said, calling to her again. She furrowed her brow, coming to the realization that the voice was on the other side of the door. "Fallon, answer me!" the voice yelled frantically. It was a tone she hadn't heard before, not in his voice. She tried to pinpoint the emotion that caused the words to sound the way the did. Panic? Desperation? Fear? Perhaps all of them, she couldn't be sure.

"Robb?" she whispered. But it was barely a whisper. Her voice was barely audible over the roar of the fire, over Robb's pounding on the door. She placed her head against the wood, hitting the door with the palm of her hand with what little strength she had left.

"D'ya hear that?" another voice asked. "That rapping against the door?" It was Theon, it wasn't hard to pick out his voice. She tried tapping again, coughing heavily as she did so.

"I hear her," Robb said to Theon. Yes, she wanted to say, I'm here. But she could barely speak, her breaths turning into gasps. "Stand back if you can hear me, love," he said and Fallon pulled herself across the floor until she was out of range. She could hear their footsteps fading slightly and she wanted to yell for them to come back.

The fire was closing in now, she had nowhere to run, even if she could get up onto her feet. Her bleeding hands shook from the pain, her eyes burned from the smoke. Delirium continued to set in on her mind as the room began to spin around on an invisible axis. It was too late, she thought, tears falling down her cheeks. She wasn't sure if the tears were from the smoke or from the dread she felt now. She wanted to hold on but she was being ripped away so forcefully.

She closed her eyes as the tears fell, the sound of the fire raging around her began to fade. Her mind was succumbing to the nothingness beyond and she barely heard the noise of something that should have been loud. She couldn't quite hear if it was the door or the fire. Whatever it was it made way for shouting.

Many shouts. Possibly her name? She couldn't tell.

The only thing she could concentrate on was the feeling of a cool touch against her skin, pulling her up into some sort of embrace. She opened her eyes against the smoke to see the figure, his silhouette outlined through the smoke. She didn't need to see his face to know who's strong arms were wrapping her up across his chest.

She felt her head fall against his shoulder as they moved. Gradually the heat lessened and lessened but all she felt was the skin of his neck against her forehead, his calloused hands through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She lost track of time as the fled, only awoke to the feeling of something cold against her back as he laid her flat. Grass, she thought. The cool dampness of the night grass was against her skin, her skin that was damp with sweat from her own exertion, or perhaps Robb's.

"Fallon," she heard, again her name in a desperate whisper as hands brushed damp locks of hair from her face. "Fallon can you hear me?" he was saying and she wanted to tell him she could. But she could only grasp at his tunic lightly. "Theon fetch the Maester."

"What's wrong with her?!" a small cry let out and her fingers instinctively reached out the to childlike whimper. Small fingers grasped hers quickly and she tried to open her eyes despite the scorching pain.

"Enat take Rickon inside," Robb ordered but Fallon squeezed feebly against the small hand in her own.

"No," she tried to say, but it came out nearly silence from her dried throat and she began coughing violently.

She could see now, as Robb bent down to help her sit up, Rickon sat by with tears in his eyes. She was sitting up, half against Robb's chest as she pulled the small boy towards her. She held him against her, stroking his hair as he cried, his face buried in the fabric falling lazily off her shoulder.

"Easy there, easy," Robb warned as Rickon squeezed her and she could feel the spinning return. Rickon placed his arms around her neck and Fallon held her fingers to his hair as she kissed his head with her dry lips. When the child pulled away Robb shifted her so she was looking at him.

"You have to fix her," Rickon pleaded as he sobbed, looking up at Maester Luwin who crouched at her side.

But she could only see Robb. His eyes were frantic as he searched her face, then her neck and arms and finally her hands. He frowned at the sight of the red stickiness on her palms. But she didn't feel the pain anymore, not from her hands at least. All she could feel was the searing in her throat that was still overshadowed by relief as she looked into Robb's ocean eyes. They were damp, she noticed, perhaps from the heat, from perspiration. They were red with irritation too, she thought

He was still searching over her exposed form when she placed her hand in his hair, feeling his curls caress her fingertips. At the sensation Robb glanced up at her, their eyes meeting in a moment of intensity that rivaled that of the blaze that ravaged through the library tower. There was something about the way he gazed down at her, the way he held her so delicately, the way his skin felt against hers. Something about it caused her to feel safe there, so safe that she didn't want to move.

But she felt her body weakening, the last of the heightened adrenaline fading quickly from her system. Her eyelids fell heavy and her muscles melted. She leaned in to speak and their foreheads touched. She felt her cheeks flush slightly at the contact. She fought to keep her eyes open as she brought her hand from his hair to his cheek and he pulled her tighter against him, securing her as she dissolved into darkness. But before she faded completely, she mustered up enough strength to whisper a few words as she stared into his eyes.

"Mo Slanaighear," she whispered hoarsly. "Mo Faol."

It was then that she succumbed to the darkness behind her eyes and the whispered words in the Old Tongue faded from her mind.