The early morning sun unraveled across Winterfell, the air still with no breeze or sound to disturb it. Then, a swift whistling. Thunk. An archer's target rippled with the impact of an arrow, a hair away from another. A second sharp whistle and another arrow joined the small clump, close to the bulls-eye. A young girl drew back the drawstring of a longbow until it was taut. She squinted at the empty center of the target, scrunching her nose in concentration and letting her fingers relax.

"Who's there?" 

Shock and fear gripped the girl, and in her distraction, the arrow slipped through her fingers. A man in fine clothes approached from the same direction as the voice. She stumbled backward in her too-big boots and her spine straightened, faltering in her courtesies for the clearly rich man.

"Boy! What are you—" the older man paused as he came closer, "Oh, forgive me." He crouched down by the girl, a soft smile on his lips, "Barely recognized you, Hilena." A wash of relief came over her as she finally recognized the man.

"It's fine, Lord Stark," the commoner muttered, fumbling with the bow as she dipped into an awkward curtsy.

"What are you doing out so early?" Lord Stark inquired, squinting at the sun low in the sky and then across to the archery target. "It looks like you've been at it for a while."

"The horses need feeding. Been here since dawn, m'lord," she answered, glancing over Ned's shoulder to avoid his kind yet questioning eyes. To her surprise, there was a boy behind Lord Stark. She must have not seen him. Oh, is that Robb? Must be. 

The boy stood still and glanced at his feet when he caught the commoner's gaze. His auburn mop of hair fell into his face, which he brushed away with a hesitant hand.

Lord Stark walked to the target and grinned, "You're quite talented. How old are you now?"

"Ten m'lord," Hilena responded. Lord Eddard took the arrows out of the target, his smile softening.

"You're the same age as my son, Robb." Hilena glanced over again at the Stark boy, who grinned crookedly at her. She returned a timid grin, out of courtesy more than anything.

"You know well you cannot use this range," Ned Stark stated, dropping the collected arrows into a quiver on the ground. Hilena flushed in embarrassment, prepared to be scolded or worse. "Especially without permission." The lord paused in front of her, looking down at the bow she held, "Yet, I cannot ignore skill. Keep the bow, you may shoot it here at the range whenever it is free. Now go along, your father will worry."

Lord Stark patted her on the back and smiled tenderly again. Hilena gulped in surprise, then nodded anxiously.

"Thank you, m'lord. I'll use them well." The girl bowed. "Thank you, m'lord."

Still scared, Hilena spun around and strode away from the Starks, bow affectionately held in her hands. It was odd that he was being kind to her, so kind to just a girl, never mind someone of her peasant status. The commoner paused, gazing down at her new possession. She glanced back, worried the rich man would change his mind and accost her.

"Come, Robb, you have expectations to meet," Lord Stark laughed, clasping his son's shoulder. The words brought a small joy to Hilena's heart, and she hid a smile before anyone could see.

»»----—-—-—-—--- ---—-—-—-—----««

When Hilena woke on the dawn of a summer day, she had not expected a snowy scene beyond her dirty window. The flakes tumbled down heavily, coating the Winter Town in a woolen blanket. Hilena smiled to herself. Summer snows. The girl had lived through the summer snows, and even been born during a winter. Snow is an old friend and a good one.

Hilena descended rickety stairs and served herself a small ration of food to break her fast, then left her home. Going to the stables did not feel like labor, though it was. She preferred it over staying home to do cooking or embroidery. After all, it was her wholehearted choice to work alongside her father instead of participating in womanly duties. It was the horses she liked more than anything. Sure, the girl could sew, cooking not so much, but it was disinteresting when compared to stable work.

The snow in Winterfell's court crunched beneath her worn boots and dappled the muzzle of the white mare. Hilena stopped to feed the horse, taking a carrot from a nearby pail. The mare ate eagerly and Hilena wrinkled her nose, letting out a snort of amusement.

"WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS?" Hilena jumped, eyes rapidly searching across the deserted yard. Suddenly, Fat Tom came barreling into the middle of the yard.

"WHO THREW THAT AT ME?" The guardsman cried out, wiping a splatter of snow off his face.

"Tom, you all right?" Hilena called out. The guard turned towards her, relieved to see a familiar face.

"I'm aight Hilena, but someone thinks it's funny to—" A ball of snow promptly smacked him on the nose. His face deeply reddened like an apple before he grumbled, "I think I'll be goin'."

Hilena stifled a laugh with her hand and nodded, the unfortunate guard stomping off across the yard. However, she became determined to find the source of the snow. The girl marched over to where Tom had stood and examined the probable origin of wintery assailants.

"Who's there?" There was no one in sight, only the snow falling from the grey sky. Hilena motioned to rub snowflakes from her face, only for a frigid lump of snow to hurtle down and ruin her progress. The commoner let out a shaky, unamused breath, but returned to wiping away the snow. As she did so, indistinct voices drifted down from above her.

"What was that for, Jon?" That's a boy's voice.

"I didn't mean to Robb, for a second I thought it was Tom." That's a boy too... wait. I know that name. Hilena finished scrubbing snow off herself, looking upward to where the voices. Robb? Lord Stark's son?

"How did you mistake whoever that was for Fat Tom?"

"Well, I don't know... they looked like a boy!"

"Hello!" was all Hilena could think of to interrupt.

Two heads popped out from the side of the parapet. One of them had dark curls and a long face. Jon. Oh! Jon Snow... the bastard. Jon's identity did not irk Hilena. She did not understand why others frowned at his mention and made insults under their breath. The other boy was unmistakably Robb Stark, the sun reflecting off his auburn hair and in his blue eyes. After a moment of perplexed staring, Jon turned to his brother and said something unintelligible.

Finally, Robb spoke, "You're Hilena, right? The master of horse's daughter?"

"Yes, m'lord." She bowed her head. The Stark paused in thought.

Jon cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about the snow. I, uh, thought you were Fat Tom."

A light chuckle escaped Hilena's lips. "What did Tomard do to deserve snow dumped on him?" The boys hesitated, visibly guilty.

"Fun?" the Stark offered, and his brother shrugged.

"Well, that's not fair m'lord, he's not your size." Jon laughed and Robb pursed his lips. Hilena walked over to a pile of snow by the smithy, grabbing a handful. She shaped the snow into a ball and looked back up at the boys. "I'm up for a fair fight!" How long has it been since I've played in the snow? Oh, I miss it so much!

"You're a girl!" Jon protested, "Girls can't fight! You'll get hurt." Hilena frowned.

Robb did not respond, withdrawing from over the parapet. Jon glanced behind himself with uncertainty, then left too. Hilena gripped the snowball, and a small smile crept onto her face. I've never played with anyone except Harwin, and that was years and years ago. I'll show them. Both boys appeared at the bottom of a nearby tower. Jon already had snow in his hands, but the Stark was empty-handed.

"Why would you want to fight?" Robb asked, chewing on his lower lip before adding, "And Jon is right, you'll get hurt."

"It's just some fun!" Hilena answered, "I'll be fine." She threw her snowball at the Stark with all her might and hit him square in the chest.

Chaos ensued.

Jon's snowball hit Hilena on the shoulder, but she swiftly returned the attack, hitting his cheek. More and more snowballs sailed across the yard from the two opposing sides. The girl hit Jon in the face, making him fall back laughing and breathless. Robb got Hilena on the side of her head, but the Stark went down too with a hit to the neck. By the end, they were all laughing blissfully and had fallen on the snowy ground. All their faces flushed from the cold, their clothes soaked from melted snow. None of it bothered them.

"Seven hells, what are you doing?" 

Hilena's stomach tightened into a knot at her father's voice. Her eyes blinked open to Hullen scowling above her, his brown eyes blazing.

"I was just—"

"Just what?" her father's voice was accusing, "Hurting Lord Stark's boys? Do you want to lose a hand or two?" Before she could respond, Hullen grabbed her arm and yanked his daughter to her feet. "Get back to getting the horses' hay," his voice dropped to a whisper, "and don't go playin' with little lordlings. Not ever again. Now get on."

Hilena wanted to protest. I wasn't hurting anyone! We were having fun! Jon and Robb are just fine, didn't you see, Father? We were playing! Like friends! Instead of speaking out, the girl swallowed her remarks. Hullen departed with a final glare, and Hilena looked back to the two boys. They were talking to each other, backs turned and distant. I'm a fool. A fool to think I could have friends. Especially ones like them.

Her father's scolding ruined the rest of the day. Hilena tried to make herself feel better by brushing the horses, but it brought her no joy. By the time she finished working, the girl was thankful to go home and sleep. Except Hilena had to see her father at the dinner table, since it was the one night he ate with his children. Of all days.

Beef-and-barley stew. Again. The commoner swirled her crudely carved wooden spoon in her saucer. Lazily, she scooped some soup up and took a light swallow. Even if Hilena had eaten this kind of stew hundreds of times, it was better than no stew at all.

"How was work today, Father?"

The girl brought her eyes up from her food to Harwin, who had spoken. Her brother strongly resembled their father; even his hazel eyes passed for Hullen's brown ones. Harwin's eyes were much kinder, though. He was nine-and-ten and had recently joined Lord Stark's guard. Now, he too was always away in Winterfell. So far.

"Good, I got new horseshoes for Lucky and Betha." Hullen sipped his stew. Thank the gods. "Otherwise, your sweet sister made a commotion." Hilena gripped her spoon tighter.

"Trouble? Again? What did Lena do now?" Harwin questioned and glanced at his sister, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Threw snow at Lord Stark's oldest boys."

"Robb and Jon? Were they fighting back?"

Hullen hesitated before replying, "Yes."

"We were playing together is all," Hilena whispered, narrowing her eyes at her father. Even if they didn't care, we was just playing. You don't have to care to have friends you play with.

"Watch your tongue," the old man warned through gritted teeth.

Harwin sighed. "Lena, they're not people to be friendly with. And I know you want friends but—"

"What's wrong with them?" Hilena countered, turning her gaze to her brother.

"They're rich lordlings," Hullen snarled.

"But Lord Stark is kind to me. I doubt he'd mind if I made friends of his sons," she retorted, "You both like Lord Eddard! Why don't you like the boys?" The two men exchanged a knowing look before Harwin cleared his throat.

"We respect Lord Stark 'cause he's an older man, he's learned. His boys are just that, green boys. You'd do better to play with the lads in the Winter Town. They won't lure you in with potential... promises of riches. It's happened to many girls before." Hilena scrunched her nose.

"It's for your safety," Hullen stated, his tone softer. The girl opened her mouth to retaliate.

"Lena, want to train?" Harwin asked, and Hilena's lips snapped shut.

Reluctantly, she replied, "Yes. With swords today, please." Her brother's mouth curved into a gentle smile, which she did not return.

The family finished the meager dinner in stiff silence. Hilena sprinted up their ramshackle stairs and went to her room to prepare for sparring. She removed her jerkin but kept on the tunic underneath. More room to breathe, the girl remembered. With additional cloths wrapped around her hair, hands, and arms: Hilena was ready.

The girl made her way behind her home, where Harwin stood solitarily, a pair of old fence posts in his hands. Snow crunched underfoot as the girl approached. It'll be slippery.

"Think quick!" her brother shouted, tossing a slat to her. Nimbly, Hilena caught the practice weapon with both hands braced in front of her. Harwin let out a laugh, "You've gotten better at that." She rolled her eyes, remembering all the times the fence post smacked her in the nose or crunched against her fingers.

"What's my next lesson?" Hilena asked, now grasping the slat in her right hand.

"Stances."

"Haven't we done stances?" the girl grumbled.

"We need to review." Harwin grasped his fence post with both hands, then lowered it down between his legs, so it pointed at the ground. "What's this used for?" Hilena scrutinized the stance. What are the advantages of keeping a sword that low?

"Quick counterstrikes," she answered, mimicking her brother's position.

"Good, now what about this?" He drew the slat up high beside his head and pointed it directly at her. Keeping it that way can only mean one thing.

"Downward strikes."

"Not exactly. You'll want to strike directly at your opponent with this stance," Harwin corrected. Oh. He continued, "But show me the best stance for downward blows."

Hilena paused in thought, then gripped the fence post with both hands. She lifted the practice weapon up beside her head, the tip of it pointed behind her.

"Great," Harwin said with a smile, but his grin faltered. "You seem tired, Lena." The girl lowered her slat and shook her head.

"I'm fine. Let's continue," she lied.

"You're upset about the Starks."

Hilena's mouth opened and closed before she said, "I get why—"

"I'm not scolding you," he interrupted, "I understand your annoyance. They're pleasant lads, but they're highborn. What about befriending Bessa or Kyra, the other girls your age?"

"They make fun of me," Hilena replied with a frown, "They say I look like a dirty boy. They neigh at me and call me the Stinky Pony. They smell too!"

Harwin's face fell in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"They're stupid," she grumbled, "I didn't want you to go to them about it and make a fuss." It doesn't hurt me. It doesn't. Not really. Her brother narrowed his gaze, then closed his eyes in thought.

"Well, maybe you should make friends with the Starks."

A smile replaced the girl's grimace. "Really?"

Harwin slowly opened his eyes. "Boys don't mind smelly, which you are."

He smirked, even as Hilena began charging at him with her fence post held high. She tackled him to the ground, his fall softened by the snow. Harwin let out feigned cries and laughs before the girl gave up and fell down beside him, laughing along.

It only reminded her of hours ago, playing in the snow and giggling with the Starks. Then came the memory of their ignorance afterward and for the rest of that day. Part of Hilena knew that their kindness would not extend beyond the fleeting moments. Father's right, little lordlings will never care.