Author's Note: Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

~*~

The Snow Child

Then

"Child, come forth."

Freya just stood there, her small feet sinking into the snow, staring at the distant treeline as though transfixed. The wind made her dark hair billow out behind her like a black banner, her ragged shift slipping off a bare shoulder, her face as white as winter. The sky soared high above her, cold and cruel, the sun slowly wending its way across the blinding blue, its pale rays framing Freya, lending her an unearthly radiance, almost making her seem to be cast from marble.

Mance grabbed her arm, as though his touch alone could bring her back from the edge, but she was oblivious to everything but the call of the cold, ice burning through her veins like blood, freezing her heart into a fortress that flame could not breach. "Freya," he said, whirling her round to face him, "Freya!"

She blinked, shaking her head as though to clear it, before staring up at her uncle with almost wonder, looking almost bemused at his fear.

Mance let go of her, before taking a step back, remembering that day so long ago when he'd cut her from his dying sister's womb, leaving the child the last of his kin. He had been both mother and father to the girl, trying to shield her from the slurs surrounding her birth, but he realised in that moment he was not enough to stand between Freya and the darkness ever threatening to take what was its.

From the moment she could toddle across the snow, barefooted, flesh unfearing of the cold, dark hair tumbling down her back, most sought to stay out of her path. Having now survived ten harsh years on the wrong side of the Wall, Mance had taken her in hand, instructing her in the art of warfare, raising Freya to be a spearwife like her mother before her. He had also begun teaching her how to survive out in the merciless open; how to hunt, as well as cleaning and cooking her kills; of how to skin and sew the hides for clothing and other uses.

Yet as he continued to study her pale face, Mance knew his knowledge would fall short of protecting Freya, that he would fail her as he had failed her mother. Winter had touched them both, the cold corrupting, his sister succumbing, Freya following, making Mance want to tear the world apart with his bare hands, helpless against the harsh elements, the ice eroding all he held dear.

"Uncle," Freya asked, ruining his reverie, her brow furrowing, "what is wrong?"

"What's there to be wrong?" Mance snapped, hiding his fear with false anger, not wanting his niece to see how much she unnerved him.

"Everything and nothing," Freya said, her dark eyes becoming distant, "all and ever."

"Stop talkin' in riddles and get your arse into gear," Mance ordered, but Freya just stood there, her head turning in the direction of the distant treeline again.

"Can you not hear it?" she whispered, turning shining eyes upon her uncle, her stare searing into his, making Mance take another step back.

"Hear what, child?" he said harshly, his voice cracking.

Freya turned away from him, taking a step towards the silence that sang to her so, Mance grabbing her shoulder, yanking her back.

"Winter is comin'," he spat, hauling her away, "and we must flee before it."

"Winter is already here," Freya said coldly, her eyes suddenly flashing blue-white, making Mance freeze in horror, "and you must kneel before it."

Winter has come too late
Too close beside me
How can I chase away
All these fears deep inside?