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Chapter 3Notes:Things are starting to pick up on Fair Isle.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextFaircastle - 33 AC

After learning to stand, walk, and eventually run, the next hurdle on the horizon made itself clear. I'd have to learn how to speak.

It wasn't as simple as just talking. I had to choose my moment, choose my time. I could start spouting full sentences out of the blue or the superstitious medieval folk would get spooked and dash my head on a rock. Couldn't have that. No, I need to ease into it, building to my complete capacity.

I decided to first speak in front of my father, Marq. He wasn't the person I would say I was closest to, but I would need a relationship with him in the future, and he'd probably feel special if I was the first one I spoke to. He usually visited the nursery (where I still, annoyingly, dwelt) after supper, and spent an hour or so hanging out. He'd sometimes play with me, and sometimes, he'd try and coax me to talk.

Just what I wanted.

When he arrived at the nursery, it was early evening, the sun still visible on the horizon. It was a burnt orange, reflecting off the sapphire waves of Fair Isle. Despite my general distress about being in a new world, I could still enjoy the view. It had nothing on the great rainforests of BC but was beautiful nonetheless.

As soon as Marq entered, I rushed over to him, as quickly as I could get my stupid baby legs to carry me. My father laughed, kneeling and slipping his hands under my armpits. I was hoisted into the air and tossed for a second before landing in his arms. I won't lie. It was fun.

I laughed too, joining him in his mirth. As babies do, I babbled a bit, before beginning my short and simple speech. "Again!"

He paused. I paused too, looking up into his deep blue eyes.

"You spoke." My father noted. His smile faded for a second, before brightening once again. "You spoke!"

"Again!" I repeated. I didn't want to progress too quickly.

He tossed me up and down, catching and waiting for me to speak. I complied, again and again, as much as he liked. I was getting a bit nauseous when he stopped. "Only eight moons of age, and he can speak," my father breathed, "what will I tell the maester?"

I buried my face into his chest, sighing in relief. Finally, I could talk again.

A year or so passed, and with it, I grew. Growing pains were frequent and excruciating, but in hindsight, I supposed it wasn't entirely unexpected. After all, I'm pretty sure toddlers double or triple their size and body mass over a several-year period. If teenage growing pains of only a few inches caused constant aches, what I was experiencing now was pretty much par for the course.

I made sure to develop as much as I reasonably could during that period, as well. I walked and ran and spoke as much as I could, but made sure to use simple words at first and to regulate my agility. I discovered that there weren't any concerns on that front, as my new body was ridiculously uncoordinated. No wonder the old Androw Farman hadn't been able to hack it as a squire. He probably could barely aim a sword. I would have to find a way around that at some point, but for now, I would probably just have to soldier on.

It also turned out that my new body had a minor allergy to dairy, and I felt bloated as all get-out after drinking the smallest amount of milk. It was quite annoying, and if I hadn't dealt with prevalent allergies to nuts, fish, and kiwi in my previous life I'd have been pretty pissed. This, overall, was a step up from my former body, so I could call it a plus.

That's so depressing.

Anyways, I started to internally map out Faircastle in my mind. It was difficult with my tiny toddler legs and the sheer size of the thing, but over months I gradually formed an image in my mind. The place was huge.

Faircastle was made of a white, marble-like stone, cool to the touch. It spread out in a pentagon from a central spire, and five main towers jutted out at the edge. The walls were all at least forty feet in height, but the actual battlements hung over the walls in a way that would stop intruders from climbing over them. Crenellations dotted the stone walkways all along the walls, perfect for archer cover. In addition to the man-made defenses of Faircastle itself, a jagged cliffside spilled out at the feet of four of the five walls, with the fifth wall maintaining a flat and exposed slope.

Hundreds of soldiers garrisoned the castle at all times, all of them bearing the red, yellow, and blue colors of House Farman. Well-kept mail was standard uniform, alongside powerful crossbows and menacing pikes. I knew that during the War of the Five Kings the Westerlander armies were some of the best equipped in all of Westeros, and it didn't seem like things were any different two hundred and fifty years before that. Us Farmans, as the only safeguard against Ironborn raids, would arguably be among the best equipped of said Westerlands to better handle any threats.

My second 'nameday' passed and I discovered that my brother Franklyn and I had been born on the same date. Our grandfather called a feast in our honor and invited all of our vassals. All the landed knights bound to us attended and brought their retinues with them. I noticed their soldiers seemed to be seriously equipped as well, yet they demonstrated a lesser level of skill than the Farman soldiers while training in the yard.

Of course, no feast in the Game of Thrones world can go by without incident, so I probably should've predicted this one wouldn't either. To be fair, I don't think it was my fault. No, the blame could be entirely placed on my five-year-old sister.

Elissa had stolen her first boat.

Rowing out to Walrus Isle was the first time Elissa had been on the water, and she loved every second of it. The gulls crying above her, the sea mist splashing against her face, the swish of the current below her boat. It was magnificent. Why didn't anyone want her on the water?

Elissa Farman, the only daughter of Marq Farman, wrapped her fingers around the oars and pulled. They were made for a person much larger than she, but Elissa knew she was strong. She could always outrun Franklyn, and she had climbed all the towers and walls of Faircastle. Next to that, rowing was easy.

A fish jumped in the water next to her rowboat, and she let out a giddy laugh. Her long flaxen hair whipped in the wind, the tips getting in her mouth. She spat. Yuck.

When the wave was about to push her, she heaved the oars, pulling in the direction she needed and working with the ocean. She knew where she needed to go, and she knew where the sea wanted to take her. Those two things weren't opposite each other. All Elissa had to do was move.

Didn't the men of the Iron Islands pray to a god of the sea? Elissa wondered if he was helping her now and if she should be praying to him instead of the Seven-Who-Are-One. She knew that Septa Larissa wouldn't like her to be thinking those kinds of things, but Septa Larissa was old and stinky. And not here.

Eventually, after about an hour of amazing sailing, Elissa dragged her rowboat ashore. The overpowering sounds of hundreds of walruses crashed in her ears, and she smiled. This was where she belonged. Here, in nature, not in some stuffy castle with bossy servants and mean maesters. For a little while, she mimicked the sounds of the walruses, barking, and yelping when appropriate. Some of them started to look at her funny, and she giggled. Animals were silly.

Hiking up the sandy hill away from the walruses, Elissa observed a small island laid out before her, an isle of sand and rock and some grasses. A small tower clung to a windswept hill, the only other high point on the entire island besides Elissa's own hill. She could see its bronze-and-gray banners flapping in the breeze, toothed monstrosities rearing up and down.

Placing her hands on her hips, Elissa let out a sigh. This was the life.

It was only another five minutes before the men of Walrus Isle found her.

Notes:Another one down.

I've never written the perspective of a child as young as Elissa before, but I hope I did an adequate job. She's still developing into the character we will see for the vast majority of the story, but you can see hints at her personality already.

The 'Walrus Isle' thing is entirely made up on my part, as even the detailed world of George Martin doesn't usually feature tiny islands. Also, the unnamed walrus house doesn't exist either, but House Farman has at least one knightly house sworn to it so I threw on a few others. They won't have much of an impact on the story, don't worry.