The cold winds of the North howled through the dense canopy of the Wolfswood, whipping snow against the sturdy wooden walls of Serena's secluded home.
Inside, however, the brutal winter was completely defeated by a roaring hearth and thick layers of high-quality insulation.
Serena pushed the heavy ironwood door open, slipping inside and quickly securing the iron bar behind her. She had stayed at the Mole's Hole later than usual, ensuring her subordinates were perfectly executing her strict orders to prepare the town for the Lord Steward's arrival.
She let out a long, exhausted exhale, finally shedding the cold, terrifying persona of the 'Shadow Queen.' Here, within these four walls, she was just a mother.
She hung her heavy, snow-dusted bearskin coat on an iron hook near the door and untied the rigid leather corset she wore over her dress. Changing into a lighter, comfortable woolen tunic, she walked softly into the main living area.
Lyra was curled up on a thick pile of furs near the fire, taking a peaceful evening nap, her soft breathing harmonizing with the crackling wood.
At the sturdy oak dining table, Yoriichi sat perfectly straight. A tallow candle flickered next to him, casting a warm golden glow over his calm face. He held a quill dipped in black ink—a rare Myrish import Silas had gifted them—fully absorbed in writing on a piece of high-quality parchment.
Serena walked up behind him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "What are you writing, dear?" she asked casually, peering over his head.
Yoriichi didn't flinch. He carefully finished the stroke of his quill, lifting the tip with a graceful flick, before answering softly, "My name, Mother."
Serena blinked, her beautiful face scrunching in mild perplexity as she looked at the parchment.
He had indeed written something, but it looked absolutely nothing like the common tongue of Westeros. It didn't look like the blocky runes of the First Men, nor the flowing script of High Valyrian she had sometimes seen in Maester Luwin's library back at Winterfell.
Instead of standard letters, Yoriichi had drawn massive, complex, and highly artistic symbols. The strokes were bold, sweeping, and incredibly sharp, perfectly balanced on the page. It looked like the calligraphy of some ancient, forgotten empire.
"Is this... another language?" Serena asked, highly intrigued. She leaned closer, her eyes tracing the intricate, block-like shapes. "If this spells your name, it is written in a tongue I have never encountered. It looks more like small, intricate paintings rather than normal letters."
"It is," Yoriichi replied quietly, offering no further elaboration on the impossible origins of the text.
"Well, it is certainly beautiful," Serena murmured, tilting her head and accepting the mystery. "But... why did you write it so big? You know parchment isn't cheap, Yoriichi. You should write smaller, with spaces between the words."
Serena had more than enough wildling gold hidden beneath her floorboards to buy a mountain of parchment, but she firmly believed in teaching her children the value of resources. In the North, wastefulness was a sin that could get a person killed.
"I know that, Mother," Yoriichi replied calmly, setting the quill down. He looked at the strange, beautiful characters—Yoriichi (縁壱)—with a faint, almost melancholic familiarity in his crimson eyes. Somewhere deep in his fragmented memories, he slightly remembered a gentle woman holding a brush, teaching him these exact strokes in a house with paper walls.
"I apologize for the waste," Yoriichi continued, his voice as smooth as a calm lake. "But... drawing these exact strokes, in this specific size, requires my entire arm to move in perfect sync with my breath. It helps center my mind. It aids in my concentration."
Serena raised an eyebrow, tracing a finger over the air above the wet ink. "Oh? Where did you learn to write like that?"
"No one taught me," Yoriichi said quietly, looking up at her. "It is just... intuition. The shape of the lines feels correct in my hands."
Serena hummed softly, deciding not to press the issue. By now, she was more than used to her son's bizarre, otherworldly quirks. If he wanted to draw strange symbols to help him meditate, it was far better than the things normal teenage boys in Mole's Town got up to.
"Very well," Serena smiled, kissing the top of his head. "Just use the slate board next time you want to practice your intuition. Save the parchment for the ledgers."
"Yes, Mother."
"Mother is home!" a cheerful voice suddenly rang out.
Lyra stretched like a little wolf pup, throwing off her furs and practically bouncing across the room. Despite her blindfold, she navigated around the chairs flawlessly and wrapped her arms tightly around Serena's waist.
"Did you have a good day, sweet wolf?" Serena laughed, hugging her daughter back tightly.
"I did!" Lyra beamed, turning her head toward Yoriichi. "Today, brother and I practiced balancing on the icy rocks near the stream. Then we went to town, and Silas gave us sweet dried plums! And then he caught a man trying to steal a rusty dagger from the junk bin!"
"Oh?" Serena asked, looking at Yoriichi with a raised eyebrow. "Did you have to fight him?"
"No!" Lyra giggled, covering her mouth. "Brother didn't even hit him! He just stepped on the thief's shadow so the man couldn't move. Then he just stared with his red eyes... he stared so hard and didn't blink once! The thief started shaking, dropped the dagger, and literally cried while running away! He yelled that a demon was looking at his soul!"
Serena threw her head back and chuckled warmly, picturing the terrified thug fleeing from her stoic, calm son. Yoriichi simply cleaned his quill and packed away his ink, completely unbothered by his sister's dramatic retelling of the event.
For the next hour, the harsh realities of the Night's Watch, the wildlings, and the upcoming parley completely faded away. It was a pocket of pure, warm family relaxation.