"The villages around Harrenhal are dirt poor," a fat woman said while kindling the fire. "Parents can't afford to keep their kids. Handing them over to us is the only real chance they've got."
"Don't sugarcoat it," a young man squatting nearby carving a stick said without looking up. "We're saving their souls, not picking up garbage."
"Soul and body both," the woman laughed. "Once they stand in front of R'hllor's holy fire, everything gets clean."
Limpick stayed crouched by the doorway, swallowing every word like it was another lump of black bread—chewing it fine, forcing it down.
He watched them all afternoon while they turned the side room into something livable. They stacked stones into a crude altar and set an iron basin on top. A fire crackled inside it, small but fierce, orange flames dancing and throwing long, flickering shadows across the walls.
Ember came back right as the sun started to drop.
Limpick heard the click of claws on stone and his stomach clenched. He stood fast and walked quickly toward the gate. Ember was coming up from the lake, a wild duck hanging from its jaws, Plume perched on its back. The dragon spotted him and picked up speed, tail swinging behind it.
"Stay back!" Limpick hissed, waving his hand sharply.
Ember stopped and tilted its head. Plume did the same, narrowing its gold-and-silver eyes.
Limpick glanced over his shoulder. The people inside were busy; no one was looking out. He hurried over and pressed his hand to Ember's head.
"People showed up," he said under his breath. "Lord of Light priests. They can't see you."
Ember rumbled, confused.
"You're too big now," Limpick told it. "They'll panic. It'll cause problems."
Ember set the duck on the ground and stared at him with those golden eyes—head tilted, ears twitching, not understanding but trusting him anyway.
"You two stay away for now," Limpick said. "Head back to the lake, find somewhere quiet. I'll call you when they're gone."
Ember dropped to the ground and rested its chin on the dirt, making a low, unhappy sound. Limpick ran his hand over the warm scales, from the top of its head down the neck to the jaw. "I know you don't like it," he said quietly, "but we don't have a choice. You learned this back in Riverrun—people see something different, they get scared. Scared people make trouble."
Ember stayed put, but Plume launched off its back and landed on Limpick's shoulder, pecking his ear once. The call was soft but sharp.
"You too," Limpick said, glancing sideways. "Both of you. Don't let anyone spot you."
Plume called again, flew back to Ember's back, and settled in. Ember stood, picked up the duck, and turned toward the lake. It took a few steps, then paused and looked back. Sunset painted its black scales a deep, glowing red, like fresh charcoal. Those golden eyes burned bright against the color, locked on Limpick.
"Go on," Limpick waved. "A few days and it'll be fine."
Ember turned and loped away, long strides eating up the ground, tail dragging a line in the dust. Plume rode between its shoulders, bright white against all that dark. The black-and-white pair vanished into the twilight.
Limpick stood there until they were gone, then walked back inside Harrenhal.
The group had already set a pot over the fire. The smell of fish soup drifted out—salt, herbs, something rich. It smelled better than anything he'd had in Riverrun. The scarred man stood stirring with a long ladle. When he saw Limpick, he smiled.
"Child," he said, "come have some soup."
Limpick walked over and took the bowl. It was hot, perfectly salted, with real chunks of white fish floating in it—not scraps, actual meat. He burned his tongue but kept it down.
The man watched him drink, smiling the whole time. The smile looked twisted on the burned half of his face, but Limpick had seen worse in Riverrun—drunks with split lips, dockworkers missing fingers, fishermen with crushed legs. A face was just a face.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
"Limpick."
"Limpick," the man repeated, rolling the r thickly. "I'm Marwyn. Servant of the Lord of Light."
Limpick nodded and kept drinking.
"Your parents?"
"Dead."
"How long?"
"Long time. Don't remember."
Marwyn nodded and didn't push. He stood by the pot, waited until Limpick finished, then ladled him another bowl.
"You live in Harrenhal," Marwyn said. "Aren't you afraid? This place—"
"Nothing to be afraid of," Limpick said, eyes on the soup. "Just stones. Stones don't eat people."
Marwyn gave a quiet laugh that sounded like it rolled around in his throat. "Stones don't eat people," he said, "but other things do. When the Long Night comes, a lot of things in the dark will eat people."
Limpick looked up. Firelight danced in Marwyn's eyes—one normal brown, the other red and bulging without an eyelid, like an overripe cherry. Both eyes watched him, but the left one seemed to look deeper, past him.
"Long Summer isn't over yet," Limpick said. "Long Night's still a ways off."
"Not as far as you think," Marwyn replied. "The longer the summer, the longer the night. R'hllor tells us that."
Limpick didn't answer. He lowered his head and finished the soup.
He stayed with them for three days.
Each morning Marwyn and the others left to preach and hand out food in the nearby villages. They returned at dusk with news—some village hit by flood, some kid sick, some husband beating his wife. Limpick didn't go with them. He stayed at Harrenhal, splitting wood for the fat woman, feeding the fire, washing pots. He asked no questions, talked little, worked hard, never slacked. The woman liked him for it and started giving him an extra bowl of soup, sometimes an extra piece of bread.
He kept waiting.
First day he just worked, ate, slept. Same on the second. On the evening of the third day, when Marwyn's group came back, Limpick was sitting on the steps by the gate carving a piece of wood with his rusty dagger.
Marwyn walked over and sat beside him. "What are you making?"
"A bird," Limpick said. "Saw a white one back in Riverrun. Pretty. Just messing around."
Marwyn looked at the wood. The shape was already clear—wings spread, long tail.
"Nice work," he said.
Limpick kept carving.
After a moment Marwyn spoke again. "We're not leaving tomorrow."
Limpick's dagger paused, then kept moving.
"We leave the day after," Marwyn said. "North, to the Twins. You want to come with us?"
Limpick didn't look up. "Why would I?"
"Food," Marwyn said. "A place to sleep. Better than staying alone in this cursed ruin."
Limpick shaved off another curl of wood and blew it away. "You take in kids, right? I'm not a kid anymore. I'm eighteen."
Marwyn laughed softly. "Eighteen is still a child. To me, you're still very young."