ALL THE KING'S HORSES ━ asoiaf

HILENA III

Days of Hilena's life smeared together like a hand upon freshly inked words. She awoke at dawn, set out for her work until dusk, and made merry in town until the hour of ghosts. Every night in bed, the girl wondered how she had not yet collapsed from sheer bore. Little punctuated her waking hours, so the moon had turned thrice since Winterfell emptied with little notice.

This is stupid, the commoner thought as she brushed a horse's mane. Stupid lordling chose me to replace my father. Even Hullen figured it would be Joseth. Why wasn't it? Hilena gently picked apart a knot in the courser's wiry, black hair. I could be in King's Landing with Harwin. Why am I not? The knot came loose, and a heavy breath escaped her chest.

"Mistress!" It was Hallis Mollen's voice coming from afar, unfortunately.

"What does Lord Stark demand, Hallis?" Hilena replied coolly. She could feel the man's presence and eyes upon her at the stall door, but she did not look at him.

"He asks ye to meet him in the Great Hall," the guard said, "Urgent matters." She picked up her coarse brush and continued to untangle the courser's mane.

"Urgent?" The brush caught on another knot, which she undid.

"Urgent. M'lord says ye must attend to it. Forthwith."

Hilena sighed and put down the brush, and turned to leave the stall. Hallis stood aside as the gate swung out, and she glared at the man, then felt a pang of guilt. He has not done anything to me and is not so different from me. She strode to the Great Hall, the captain of the guard putting a distinct distance between them as he followed. Her stomach sloshed, and her skin prickled. Urgent. What in any hell could be so urgent that concerns me?

The Great Hall was a dull place when devoid of a feast. Hallis opened a door to enter the hall alongside Hilena, and the air inside was stagnant. The girl did not cast her eyes aside at who sat at the dais; she had grown tired of games of stares. The new Lord Stark was conversing with Maester Luwin; both sat high in their fine chairs at their fine table. A direwolf the size of a grown hound, Grey Wind, she supposed, lay before them calmly.

If the Gods are real, they are cruel, Hilena thought as she approached the dais. She could serve her father and live with serving Eddard Stark, but it had all gone too far. Anger simmered on her tongue at the sight of Robb Stark, her words waiting to burn. But in truth, she was helpless. Hilena took her orders, held her tongue, and did her duty because there was naught much else. She had long ago discarded fanciful notions of liberation. So, she approached in servitude.

"You asked for me, m'lord?" Hilena crossed her arms before herself, her ill-fitting leather jerkin stretching awkwardly. He had asked her, but she took it as an order. Everything Lord Stark said to her was a command.

Robb Stark cleared his throat. "That I did." He stood up from his seat and came down from the dais, Grey Wind following him. His scabbard, which held a proper blade, was too large for him. He is a mummer's lord. The boy stopped a yard from where the commoner stood, and his direwolf sat next to him obediently. If only Ghost was here.

"What news?" Hilena noticed the lord had something in his hands.

"A letter came for you... from the Night's Watch," he said and stepped forward, holding out the small scroll, "From Jon." Hilena snatched the scroll from Robb's gloved hand without hesitation, hastily turning away and breaking the wax seal to read the letter.

Hilena,

No one warned me about this place, no one but Tyrion Lannister. I am surrounded by cruelty and criminals. The master-at-arms and the others despise me when we train. It's not my fault that I am better than them. It's unbearably cold as well. My uncle Benjen is the warmest thing here. Are you well? I hope Robb is no trouble. I miss our evening drinks.