Winter is Coming (A Game Of Thrones Fan-Fic) (ON HOLD)

5. Winter Is Coming

Brooke Frey walked swiftly across the stone walkway, pulling her shawl close to her shoulders in effort to fight off the biting winds. But sound caught her ears and she glanced out of the corner of her eye to the yard below. There, she found Robb's younger brother, Bran, on horseback, a sword in hand, and a scruffy man dressed all in black wielding a sword too.

Jon.
Brooke ceased walking and crept closer to the railing. The shadows fell around her, making the wind colder as she clutched at one of the columns supporting the ceiling of the walkway. She fell into a gentle, peaceful lull in which she admired the grunts and sure movements of the men below her. The three Direwolves to the brothers lounged around, feasting, playing, or stalking rats in the stables. And nearby, Maester Luwin hollered at the two boys to stop. Brooke leaned forward, her hip bumping the railing as she leaned weight against it. There she remained, transfixed by the men below her. So obsessed that she no longer felt the wind! Time slipped away while happiness crept in. She hadn't even noticed the smile on her face until Robb came into view and it slipped away. Her eyebrows pinched together and her hands fisted in her lap as Robb barked his orders at those around him, even his pet! Her face burned an angry red when Robb accused Jon of being unfit to care for their brother.
Just because his mother is not the same as Robb's!
She was enraged! After all, Brooke came from a home where nearly every eight children have a different mother.
Blood is blood. No matter how diluted you think it.
She found herself turning away and continuing across the bridge in anger. Robb Stark was definitely not the boy she remembered- and could in no way have any link to Ned Stark, the man who fused love and control together in every conversation. Brooke desired female companionship, but she knew she would not find this companionship in Lady Stark- the only female Brooke has laid eyes upon here.
Feeling ever more lonely and increasingly unsure of her determination to leave, she left the hall to her room and descended the spiral staircase. Now on the ground floor, she slunk along the wall hoping to remain unnoticed, and made for the castle gate. The guards did not notice her as she slipped past them and made for the forest off to the right.

Half frozen leaves crunched under foot as every here and there a snowflake danced to the floor. Brooke pulled her shawl tighter around her as she continued to look all around and lose herself. The trees had faces; mouths gaped at her and endless eyes stared. This was nothing new, though the faces made Brooke stare back, she had been looked at all of her life. Though she was only fourteen years of age, she looked like she had eighteen instead. The only part that didn't seem to be eighteen years old was her chest. Brooke's siblings and other mothers used to call them her 'bug bites'. No man seemed to mind though, seeing as they never searched farther than her face. She continued to watch the bleeding eyes as she walked along, framed by the trees lining the aisle. Her pace slowed as a small lake or pond came up in the distance. She found herself sitting on a boulder close to the water's edge, looking over into the pool. It's surface was smooth as glass and beginning to frost at the edges. No matter how far Brooke leaned over, she could not see the bottom. She tore her eyes from the endless pond and looked up. The tree branches swayed softly in the wind, the few remaining leaves rustling against each other.

All the sudden, the forest got more quiet-- if it were possible. Brooke listened to her breath go in and out of her nose along with the rise and fall of her chest. She licked her freezing lips and let a burst of hot air tumble from her open mouth before turning around. On the same level, just inches from her face, was a white wolf with bright red eyes. The eyes burned through hers and deep into her soul while the wolf bared its teeth. The muzzle was tainted pink in contrast to dazzling white teeth. Brooke let a startled scream out of her cold throat and instinctively pushed herself backwards. The rock disappeared out from under her as she flailed her arms in the perpetually never ending space. Her right hand made contact with the iced water while something strong wrapped around her left bicep. Brooke felt her hand leave the water as now she was yanked upwards. She fell into a man's arms; her left shoulder, grasped tightly by him, was pinned to his chest, while her icy hand spread over his left breast and her wind bitten right cheek was pressed tight against his leather armor. The silence grew again as the two of them remained where they were, one out of shock and the other from relief. Finally, Brooke pealed her cheek from the chilly leather and tilted her neck far back to look into the man's eyes. The tips of her hair were wet and had plastered to her left cheek and forehead. She felt as if she were falling again- but not backwards, forwards- into the grey eyes in front of her.
"Jon," her breath fanned his neck.
"Lady Frey," he still hadn't released her.
"Please," her voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, "Call me Brooke."
Jon finally released her and took two, safely large, steps back, "Do we know each other well enough for that?"
Oh, I wish we did, she thought in the safety of her mind. But instead she agreed, "No. Perhaps we do not." She rubbed her exposed arms for warmth, not realizing how cold it was until she had left the proximity of Jon's body.
"Here," he unclasped the giant black cloak from around his shoulders and, with a flourish, fanned it out behind her. He settled the heavy furs and skins over her tiny shoulders and pinned the clasp in the front, "It would be a shame for you to freeze."
"Th-thank you," Brooke replied. Jon gently led her to the boulder she had once occupied and braced his hand against her shoulder blade as she lowered herself. Brooke drew the heavy furs closer to her body, reveling in the warmth and, secretly, in the musky, burning wood, scent of Jon Snow.
He kneeled onto the mixed Earth and snow coating the ground in front of her, his hand still soothingly rubbing her arm, "Of course, my Lady." As if in slow motion, or so Brooke Frey thought, he slipped the black glove from his left hand to expose his pink flesh, and moved his fingers closer to her face. Gently, he brushed away that wet tendrils that had clung to her frozen face. Just as quickly as he was close, he was then far. His left hand was still ungloved but now he was standing three yards away, picking up stones and skipping them into the pond that had freshly stilled after Brooke's disturbance. She blinked back her shock, not knowing if it was from his speed or the excess of space between them. Jon opened his mouth to speak again as he continued throwing the rocks into the pond, "I didn't know the Freys worship the Old Gods," his voice was light and husky at the same time, as if he were trying very hard to make simple conversation.
"They don't," Brooke replied quickly, "However, I pray to whoever will listen," her voice returned to its usual captivating rasp, "Whoever will protect my family."
Jon had ceased throwing stones to once again turn towards her and admire her. Brooke was doing the same to Jon. He looked quite powerful and strong standing there with his all black attire and grim face, but confused eyes. What had he seen that confused them so much? And why did he continue to wear only one glove?
"I am sorry for your father," Brooke rasped again, feeling tears creep into her eyes, tears that were inappropriate because she had not known him, "Lord Eddard was a great man and I am sorry that I never met him."
"But you did," Jon urged as he knelt once more in front of her, "You did, Lady Frey. Six years ago."
"And how would you know that?"
"Lord Eddard was bringing news to Lord Frey of Lady Stark's father. That was the first time I ever saw you." His words dripped with urgency and... happiness.
"You... you were that little boy?"
"Yes," he smiled, "And you were down by the river's edge with your brothers nearby. You wore a purple ribbon in your hair as you stuck your toes into the current."
Brooke remembered...
It was a beautiful summer day- hot but happy- as all days were back then. Expecting Lord Stark, Walder Frey had sent his youngest and most annoying children and grand-children outside so as not to disturb the grown lords. Brooke followed her older brothers to the rivers edge where they often played.
'Go away, Baby Brooke,' they taunted her, 'It isn't for girls down here.' Then they stuck their pink tongues at her and pushed her down. By the time she was back on her feet, they were sliding down the muddy banks to the choppy surface. As she ran after them, she watched the oldest of the boys wade out into the water, stumbling every few seconds as the waves tried to pull the boys under. She had finally reached the bank, unscathed by the slippery mud.
'I want to play too,' she begged as she bit the insides of her chubby cheeks.
A momentary pause and exchange of glance occurred before a ten year old Walter spoke up, 'Okay, Brooke. Why don't you come into the water with us? We'll go for a swim.'
'Yay!'
She lifted the hem of her dress and stuck her little toes into the river and touched them to the round rocks lining the bottom. Her toes slipped over their mossy surface.
'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' a strange voice that none of the Freys had ever heard before said. All of them turned around to see a nine year old boy sitting in the shadowed tree branches. He had black hair and smoky grey eyes in his long face. The boy grabbed the branch with his hands and let his body drop, it jolted when the slack in his arms was gone, and then he simply dropped to the dirt, 'Actually,' he mused as he rubbed the dirt on his hands off onto his pants, 'I wouldn't go in there if I were anyone else either.' He gave an easy smile.
'Just ignore him, Brooke,' her brothers insisted.
'Just ignore them,' the new boy hissed as he appeared next to Brooke.