I was born a restless, wayward child

“There will be plenty,” The moment they were out of sight of the hall she scooped the little girl up. “We’ve not once run short of food at Winterfell since I came here.” By Northern standards it was a warm keep, and the water pipped through the walls kept them all from freezing but more importantly it kept the glass gardens warm. “And I’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive my girl.” No matter she was still convinced some nights that she’d freeze solid were it not for Ned.

“After you’ve had a bath and you get changed we’ll talk about it,” The girl couldn’t very well go to bed on an empty stomach, but Cat didn’t want her throwing it up again. “But Maester Luwin is the one who makes the final decision not me.”

“Y-you’re sure.” Yarelle asks, putting her arms around her grandmother’s neck and carefully keeping the messy parts of her dress away from her grandmothers clothes.  It was the fourth dress she’d ruined today. The second by being sick, the other two had been victims of her wild spirit and a patch of Winterfell’s mud. She takes a lock of Catelyn’s hair and rubs it against her cheek nervously. “You’ve been ‘ere a long time? Mumma had never lived a winter before this one. She was born a’ the end o’ the las’ one though, in a snow storm. Mumma had pretty red hair too...” Her face turns sad at the thought of her mother. Where her grandmother’s skin was pink and healthy, her mother’s had been stretched over bone and pale as a ghost. 

An idea begins to form in Ned’s head, about how he will approach this delicate subject. He wants to meet her mother first, whoever it is that Jon made a child with. Maybe she will understand? Maybe she hadn’t know how to tell the girl after Jon went back to the wall? Did Jon even know he had a daughter out here? 

“That’s alright, I’m not hungry,” Ned replied as he started to follow her. He knew food was scarce here farther north of the wall. He wouldn’t want to impose upon them anyway, and there was food back at the site he’d left to survey from. 

Yarelle grins toothily at the man and climbs over the crest of the hill. At the base of it is a sprawling freefolk camp. “Tha’s home. Mumma should be ‘ome with Brielle an’ Darren now.” Brielle and Darren were her mothers siblings, though Darren was only four years older then her, and Brielle was a half wit. 

Luwin had warned them all the girl would try to stuff herself at every chance for the next months. Weeks had gone by and it wasn’t any easier watching her sick. “You’ve had enough for tonight, there will be plenty for breakfast tomorrow.” Winter had well and truly set in but that hadn’t prevented shipments from White Harbor or further south, or harvests from the glass gardens. The situation was far from desperate thank the gods.

“We don’t want you getting sick again. I’m sure your grandfather will make sure they save some lemon cakes for you.”

Yarelle whimpers. “B-But what if there’s not?” Fear creeps into her voice as she again thinks of the horrific possibility of there not being any breakfast tomorrow. For most of her young life there hadn’t been any breakfast, and dinner had been meager. Yarelle stops walking and turns to her grandmother, holding up her arms in a silent plea to be held. 

It seemed as if every time Ned left the keep he brought back some stray or another. At least this one was a Stark… a Targaryen… a wilding but one with Stark blood nonetheless.  Yarelle’s sudden appearance at her grandfather’s- great-uncle’s- side had caused an awful stir in the family. Lies long buried had come to light and the truth finally told. Most of the servants and castle staff were still ignorant of the situation thank the gods but some had guessed near enough to the truth, or some ridiculous tale they could damn well continue to believe- at least until they got all this sorted out.

“Come on,” she held a hand out to the little girl not for the first time in the past weeks. “Let’s get you upstairs and changed.” Again.

@wildlingwolf continued from here.

At the girl’s quip, Ned gives her a good-natured chuckle. “I guess it just depends on where you’re standing. There will always be farther north to go.” 

He peers at her as she speaks. He doesn’t know how, but this is Jon’s child- he would stake his life on it. She speaks of her father, which causes Ned to pause. “A wolf, hmm?” he mused. “I would very much like to meet your mother. Can you take me to your tent?”

Yarelle consider’s what the man has said about the North and nods. “I guess so, but you’re still not from the real north.” She pats the wolf puppy on the head as she speaks and pushes a tangle of hair from her eyes. 

Rodd looks at the girl for a moment, expression weary. His own father is a good man, a strong man. He has a hard time imagining what his life would be without him.

“That’s… I’m sorry.” Uncle Jon had explained to him that wildlings had helped in the Great War, but when he ventured out on his own he hadn’t expected to meet one so friendly. Although it wasn’t unwelcomed.

Yarelle shakes her head and goes back to skinning her rabbit’s. “Nah, it’s not such a big deal. I think the loneliest part of it was it’s just me and me Mam.” She shrugs. “Me mam had 2 sisters and a brother, though her oldest sister and mother died shortly before I was born. We took care of the other sister and brother but I never had siblings of me own.” 

“My mother used t’ tell a story about lyin’ with a great white direwolf and that he was my father, but I haven’t believed tha’ in a long time.” She looks back up at the boy, most in camp weren’t so friendly to kneelers but Yarelle had always been curious about them. “Me names Yarelle. We live in tha’ tent over there.” She points with one blood covered hand to a near by tent.”

“Remind me to never come and visit you… At all. Or try to steal a woman. I’d rather not end up maimed, or killed.” He stated, only to run his hand over his face. He didn’t understand their customs, but considering how many lived the lifestyle, he assumed they liked it. The male looked at Yarelle pointedly then, “I have spoken to her, I spoke to her several times in the past fortnight, and only one of them was in my head.” He stated, only to let out a sigh, and follow where Yarelle pointed. 

“Have you tried speaking to him? Persuading him to go to the loft with you?” He questioned, brow raised as he took in the male. “Were you anyone else I’d question your opinion considering his station, but alas.” 

“Ya couldn’t handle free folk life.” Yarelle grins. “Me father couldn’ handle it either.” Her smile fades slightly, she tries to avoid thinking of her father. Down here she was little else then a bastard, but up north she was her own person. Worthy of her own merits and choices. “Ya haven’ spoken to her t’day. Go on. go talk t’ her.” 

“No,” She admits. “But men are lots easier then women.” She teases, nudging him in the ribs and taking another swig from her wine cup. “Ya know freefolk don’t care about station, and ya know I’m not worth arguin’ with.” 

“What happens if a man that you don’t care for takes you?” He asked, gaze focused on her for a moment, only to turn to the woman whom had caught his eye. He’d be a fool to say that he’d never thought about having her before, he was a man. However, he didn’t want to admit that to Yarelle. “I don’t think she’d go to the hayloft with me,” he stated, turning to look at the young woman beside him. “I do not think she’s wild enough to do that.” Part of him deflated then, as he watched her playfully swat at another young lord, their flirtation taking a turn as the other man leaned in to whisper something to her. “No worry now though, she’s got her eye on someone else apparently.” 

Ned took a sip of his wine then, finding it had a bitter taste to it than it had before. “Do you see and ‘keener’s worth taking to a hayloft?” 

“Ya kill ‘im if ya don’ want him.” Yarelle shrugs. “or maim ‘im in the least. Me mother did tha’ t’ the first man who tried taken ‘er. - or rather Longspear did.” She takes a long drink from her own wine cup and watching the woman her cousin fancied flirt with someone else. “Ya know it’s kinda hard for her t’ have her eye on ya if ya never even talked t’ her.” Yarelle points out. 

“Oh yeah.” Yarelle grins, pointing to a young squire - or maybe he was a knight, Yarelle could never tell them apart. He couldn’t have been older then 15, maybe 16 if he looked much younger then he was. “Tha’ one there’d be awful nice t’ have in the ‘ayloft.” 

He’d lain with a woman before, and yet the sound of his cousin speaking about the wildling customs had his cheeks ablaze. Slowly, he cleared his throat, only to take a sip of his wine. “Wildling girls dream about someone coming to their tent and…. Well nevermind.” He let out a huff and rubbed the back of his neck. “The problem being, that I can not sing. I sound as as if I were a dying animal. Me singing is not something I would care for anyone to hear.”

Yarelle smiles cheekily. “Oh yes, we all dream of a nice boy - or man, comin’ t’ steal us in the nigh’ an’ take us somewhere for a good fuck.” She nudges her cousin playfully, she knows how uncomfortable all this talk of fucking makes her southern family. “Now I’ ain’ never been stolen but I ‘ave ‘ad a good fuck an I can tell ya the hayloft in the stables would be a good place t’ take a girl. So all ya got t’ do is get ‘er t’ go up there with ya.” 

A chuckle tumbled past his lips as he turned his attention to Yarelle. “Where I’m from we don’t just steal women in the cloak of night. There’s a process to making a woman yours.” He told her.

 “Courtship, poems, songs, jousts.” Ned let out a sigh then and took another sip of his wine. “My mother always taught me the surest way to a womans heart is to be kind, not to steal her. Do…. Do wildlings truly do that?” 

“Aye,” Yarelle nods. “Jus’ sneak in an’ steal ‘er. Yer supposed t’ fuck ‘er good once ya steal her too.” Yarelle explains, taking a long drink of her ale and watching the other woman a moment longer. “Every wildling girl dreams of the day she’ll be stolen. I suppose kneeler girls dream of songs though, ya tried singin’ one of those?”