The man crouched, shackled hand and neck to the wall of his cell. His head hung forward in what must have been painful repose.

Marie felt apprehensive of approaching him even now; he had been half mad and feral when the guards brought him in, growling and snapping at his captors.

She had watched in abashed fascination, having never known a single man could be so strong. It took a half score of guardsmen to subdue him, and they only managed after the man's exposure to one of the Maester's potions.

There had been an instant, at the end, when his eyes met her own. She found in them anger and resignation, yet a spark of defiance lingered still.

Her heart lurched in her chest when the man fell, unconscious.

Simple, tender-hearted Marie.

She pushed the other's snide observation away.

Marie was glad when the spectacle finished; she shuddered to imagine her lady mother calling on her to handle the task, otherwise. Her Affliction had been kept private, though she feared every day that would change.

"How frightful," Katya observed, "Were he not chained he would surely kill us all."

"Why would you think that?" Marie's brow furrowed. The wild man only wanted to be free. Didn't he?

Simple. Simple. Simple.

Enough!

"You saw his eyes, didn't you? He's mad. Poor thing. When your father returns he will be put down for sure."

Like a rabid dog.

For now, the man would simply starve in the dungeons, and that would be that.

The thought ate at Marie for the better part of the evening before the young woman decided to take action. Starving a man before formal sentencing was unconscionable, she decided. With her lord father away marshalling support, and her lady mother otherwise occupied with her games of deceit, Marie was, in effect, acting Lady of Lodes.

She would need to be discreet; her lady mother would not look kindly upon an open usurpation, even less so with Marie being the one to take charge.

On her way down the dank stairwell, the young woman wondered at the crime the northerner was accused. Brigandry. After his earlier display, she had little doubt he could overtake half the hold alone, were he unfettered. His miraculous capture seemed curious.

Marie shifted her hood down when she deemed it safe. The guards' collective slack was no secret, and she knew her task would be undisturbed.

She found the man's cell easily enough- the only one occupied in all the hold.

Marie eyed him as she approached, concerned for his well-being, but rightfully wary.

Bearded in the northern manner, broad of shoulder, and dark of hair, he was coarser than the men of court. Marie privately thought him more finely, perhaps sturdily, fashioned than even the most diligent of knights she'd watched in the training yards.

The man's head rose, and his flashing yellow eyes bored straight into her hiding place. Marie only wanted to see him more closely and leave provisions within his reach. Though bound as he had been, she knew her vision of aid from afar would be impracticable.

Even so, she had been sure he would be asleep, as it was long after all but the o'ernight guards took respite.

Against her initial supposition, the man remained quite wakeful. He knew she was there, even though she had taken great pains to tread lightly and shy away from the illuminating torches.

"This ain't a place for little girls to be running around," the voice was deep and gravelly from disuse. It set something within her aflutter.

Finding no acceptable excuse for her dawdling and lurking, Marie stepped out into the dim torchlight.

"I thought you might thirst. We do not often receive prisoners in the keep. The guards have likely forgotten you."

He eyed her shrewdly as she approached the bars. With the click of a pilfered key, she opened the barricade.

The man's eyes narrowed further, in speculation.

"Your mama know you're down here, girl?"

"If she did, she would be quite horrified," Marie assured seeking levity, though to relay such was no understatement. Though lacking in affection for her only child, her lady mother concerned herself greatly with appearances, both literal and figurative.

The wild man appeared un-amused, continuing to search her for the motive of her visit. His bright eyes piercing, as though his stare alone could discern her rationale.

"I did not wish for you to come to undue suffering," Marie attempted, soberly, lifting her basket from under her cloak and into his line of sight.

He tossed his head and snorted his disbelief.

"And how do you know I don't deserve it?" He challenged.

Never show weakness, child .

Marie thrust her shoulders back, and tilted her chin high, as she had been taught by her lady mother in happier times.

"I-I don't. Regardless, you will take what I have brought," she decreed, with growing confidence. "No one deserves to starve and languish."

"Lotta people don't think that way," the man contradicted.

"I do, and it is I with whom you should concern yourself."

The man gave a sharp, derisive huff of air through his nose and turned his head away, ignoring her.

She had not anticipated such churlishness. Having already overstepped her bounds in visiting the prisoner at all, she was not to be deterred by his recalcitrance.

Those dangerous, golden eyes swiveled back to her when she stepped forward. Noting her hesitance, he flashed sharp teeth in mocking facsimile of a grin, the warning clear.

In retrospect, thinking he might be grateful for her assistance made Marie feel painfully naïve, but no less determined. Clearly, he wanted her gone- a fact to be used to her advantage.

"I shall leave sooner with your cooperation."

The man seemed to consider this.

"Got any ale in that cloak of yours?" He asked.

"I do not. I shall remember it for tomorrow," Marie assured.

"You actually plan on coming back?"

"There is no other I can send that will not report to my lady mother. She would likely find it simpler if you starved. By your will or no, you are in my custody."

The man grunted. Marie interpreted the noise as assent.

She approached with the water flask, taking those few final steps that would put him within arm's reach.

She brought the container to his lips, tilting it forward to allow the liquid to flow. She felt his heavy stare piercing through her, but she was not daring enough to reciprocate it. Marie fixed her gaze determinedly on his neck, watching as he worked the liquid down his throat. For reasons she could not quite identify, the sound of the man quenching his thirst caused her face to bloom red.

He did not signal that he was finished until the container was empty.

"I will bring more water as well," she said.

He breathed deeply, making a noise of what Marie assumed was agreement. A man of few words, this northerner, but not mad, as Katya had assumed.

"What do you have in that little basket of yours?" His voice took on that deep, gravelly tone and Marie's face flushed brighter.

If she had thought satisfying his thirst has been intimate, it was trifles compared to feeding the man by hand. This had truly been a poorly conceived undertaking.

She fixed her attention on the bits of food in her hand, tracing a perfunctory path to the man's mouth.

A seeming eternity later, she pushed the last morsel between his lips, and the man nipped at her gloved fingers.

"Oh!" She jumped, in startlement.

The man chuckled deeply and Marie cut her eyes at him, in a most unladylike fashion.

Before she could tell him off for his childishness, an odd expression shadowed his face.

Lunging at her, the man bared his teeth and growled. Marie scrambled away, her back pressing against the metal bars, safely out of his suddenly enraged reach.

He meant to scare her.

Marie composed herself as he strained at his bonds, her chin again held high.

"I shall return on the morrow," she said, with as much dignity as befitted her station.

It was not until her hasty retreat she realized that never did she think to ask the man's name.

"You really ain't afraid of me," was the greeting Marie received after she stepped off the final stair the next evening. He could not see her from his vantage, and she had taken great pains to be silent in her tread. Could his perception truly be so keen?

The young woman drew back the hood of her dark green cloak and peered curiously into the semi darkness.

The man appeared muted today, no longer quite so formidable as she had last seen him. His eyes held a more human shade she supposed from the dim illumination might be brown or hazel, the gaze no longer clearly marking him as Afflicted.

"I told you I would return."

The man let his head tilt back as far as he was able, staring fixedly at the weathered ceiling of his cell.

"You're wasting your time, girl."

The man's tone was resigned, whether to his confinement or her company remained unclear.

"You may not desire my assistance," she acknowledged. "But I offer it, all the same, as acting Lady of Lodes Darkholme."

He leveled his gaze on her and cocked an incredulous brow.

"What's in this for you?"

"I- nothing. Truly. My lady mother will not concern herself with such trivialities, especially knowing it to be my wish. There is no other to take an initiative. In my father's stead and with no viable delegations, the duty falls to me."

The man's brow furrowed in confusion. "You really believe that."

"I don't think that others should suffer, and this is hardly the first time an Afflicted has been wrongly imprisoned." She watched him carefully as she framed her speculation, "Having witnessed the efficacy of your resistance only a day ago merely rouses my curiosity as to why you allowed yourself to be captured at all."

The man glared at her then, and were she of lesser bearing Marie would have recoiled. Instead, she slipped her key into the lock and stepped into his cell.

"I'm not so naïve as you must think me, I assure you."

She did not believe him a spy- surely, her father's enemies would have better sense than to endeavor to attain information while captured. Marie was, however, certain that the man before her had allowed himself to be taken- the only uncertainty lie in his reasoning.

Their contest of wills continued for several long moments. To her own surprise, the prisoner relented first, his hot gaze sliding away from her own.

"Your merry band of fools thought to relieve me of my charge. My distraction gave the girl the chance to escape with her chaperon."

"You're a knight?" The thought horrified her. Unjust imprisonment of a knight of the capitol would not be looked upon gladly. Lodes' position under the Summer king was tenuous at best.

"Mercenary," he corrected. Her discomfiture a subject of obvious amusement to the northerner.

Marie released a small sigh of relief- one less trouble in a sea of them.

"It is an uncommon sellsword that would allow himself to be captured in his charge's stead."

"Don't do the job, don't get paid." From his bound position, he gave an approximation of a shrug.

Marie nodded. Unwavering commitment to duty was the realm of sworn swords and kinsmen, not a mercenary. Unwavering commitment to coin, on the other hand-

"Supposing you speak true, the fact remains that you are not a brigand."

The man grinned in dark amusement.

"Not lately."

Curiosity satisfied for the moment, Marie moved on to the primary reason for her visit.

"I remembered the ale," she announced, determined to tend the man she now believed to be unjustly detained.

Though his sharp teeth did graze her gloved hand on more than one occasion, on this eve he did not snap at her during her ministrations. She supposed that she may have earned some modicum of his respect for returning, at all.

"What is your name?" She asked in between offerings.

"Don't matter."

"What shall I call you, then?"

"Whatever you want, princess."

Marie's nose scrunched. Afflicted daughter and sole heir to the Lord of Lodes, she was more so a prisoner than he.

"I am no princess." They lapsed into silence as she allowed him a hearty swig of ale.

"My name is Marie."

"Logan," said the man, when she returned the following eve.

Marie smiled. "Logan, then."

"What the hell have you got there, girl?"

Marie lugged her pilfered dinner stool into his cell. With it, and perhaps a mite of leverage from the man- Logan, she ought to be tall enough to accomplish her task.

"What amounts to a ladder. I'm going to get you down from there."

The man's expression relayed that he thought her unaccountably foolish. Perhaps she was, but her intuition rarely led her astray before, and she had a flash of certainty that this action followed the correct course. The chains bothered her greatly, and while she had yet to secure the key to remove them, she could at the very least relieve his strain due to being suspended by them.

"And what makes you think I won't take the opportunity to escape?"

Based on his contradictory nature when she offered anything resembling aid, Marie had anticipated this argument.

"You will not take this opportunity to escape, as I shall release you with provisions three days hence, during the celebrations of Samhain. You shan't be missed until long after the revelry has run its course. And surely, you would prefer to feed yourself and rest properly before then."

He seemed to consider her words, and she wondered how he weighed them. It occurred to her that she could discover such, should she will it. She could even verify the veracity of his encounter with her countrymen. Marie quashed the thought; the ambition behind it felt far too much like her father's own, and Marie refused to give those echoes purchase within her own mind.

"Fine. Get on with it," Logan groused, breaking her reverie.

Marie drew off her cloak, knowing it would be too cumbersome and only a hindrance to her task. Having planned this endeavor after leaving him the night previous, she had dressed in riding pants and a blouse obtained from her handmaiden.

"I might need to lean on you, to reach," she warned.

Marie climbed upon the stool and stood, bracing her left hand against his shoulder. She reached with the other, the leather of her glove sliding ineffectually down the chain.

"Why do you always wear them damned gloves? Your grip's too slick. Take'em off."

"I cannot." Marie heard his wordless growl of frustration and trailed off, attempting to focus on the task of releasing his chain from its hook rather than the distraction of the man at her breast. To her surprise, the northerner was a gentleman, keeping his head turned away and staring steadfastly at the stone wall of the cell.

"Almost."

She reached forward a third time, and several things happened at once. The chain fell heavily as she freed it, causing her to be thrown off balance. Yelping and undignified, Marie anticipated a painful, bruising fall, but found herself instead gathered by strong arms- her backward momentum halted.

They stood far more intimately entwined than could ever be deemed appropriate. Logan's eyes flashed gold, in the manner that had been absent since that first day. The odd flutter of her interest returned in earnest.

The flutter transformed, and Marie was drawn away from the present, an odd doubled vision of a sumptuous chamber and a sense of urgency overlaid the man before her. There was more, so much more, rushing through her in that instant; events that would, events that could, come to pass.

The oddity was whisked away as the substantive version of the man dipped his head toward her own. Realizing his intention a sharp fear blossomed in her chest, and Marie turned to avoid what would surely have been a painful, even deadly, mistake on his part.

His expression hardened, and Logan none too gently shoved her away.

Catching the direction of his thoughts, Marie tried to explain.

"No! I'm- it's not-"

"Leave," he rumbled.

"You don't unders-"

The full force of his bestial visage focused on her then. He was coiled tension, ready to snap.

"You're a Gods damned Lady and clearly know better than to dally with a rogue. Now, leave," he ground out.

Awash in bewilderment and frustration, she did just that.

The following eve Marie received no greeting.

Based upon that she had discerned of his character, this made for an unsurprising development. Luckily, she had brought an offering of sorts to make amends for the oddly charged atmosphere of the night previous.

If she wished to convince him for his aid in her own newly developed plans, it would be necessary to be on speaking terms, after all.

Rather than the surly attitude she expected, Marie found the northerner bruised and bloodied, laid out in the middle of his cell.

"Logan! What happened?!" She screeched, less than mindful of her volume.

"The hell does it look like? The drunkards you employ as guardsmen decided to have a little fun."

Marie's eyes raked up and down, assessing the severity of his injuries.

"Don't look at me like that, girl. I gave better than I got. They couldn't run quick enough once one of'em sobered up enough to realize I could hit back."

She shoved the evening's offerings through the metal bars and hurried to the upper landing to fetch the pail of warm water.

"I shall return in a moment," she called over her shoulder.

She heard a rowdy bunch whilst gathering her supplies not half an hour previous, though she had not truly considered their path. Had they discovered her tending the northerner, it would have led to a most unpleasant audience with her lady mother.

Good fortune for her; poor luck for Logan. Though if she were found meddling, such would end poorly for them both.

"I don't need your help, girl," he groused upon her return.

He'd shifted his position to lean seated upon the far wall during her short absence.

"I am aware. I originally intended for this to serve as an apology. Last night-," she said indicating the washing supplies.

"Forget it. Never happened."

Even as he spoke, his swollen eye did not seem so distorted as it had moments ago.

"If you would only permit me to explain."

"No need. It never happened."

Clearly, it was folly to pursue the matter with him. His attitude nettled her something fierce, but Marie buried her irritation. Instead, she found herself mesmerized by the changes in his bloodied visage- a blackened eye should not appear so when fresh.

She had thought that the strength, the keen hearing, and the flashing golden eyes were the whole of it, however-

"Is this part of your Affliction?"

"I heal," He shrugged, the chains still bound to him clinking.

"That is miraculous. You are fortunate."

He snorted. His derision in reference to his own Affliction was curious. It was far more beneficial than her own.

The man watched her intently when she entered, his posture tense.

"I mean only to rinse away the blood. Though, I had also hoped to entice you to listen to me."

"Don't got much choice but to listen."

"But you do choose whether or not to entertain my notions, and thus far this eve, you have been far too eager to interrupt."

"If you're gonna try and wash away the blood, take off those damned gloves, for once. Not good for the leather," he deflected.

It was not as though she wanted to disclose the nature of her curse to another, but she felt compelled to convey the gravity to the man.

"I told you only yesterday that I cannot. My Affliction-"

"Makes you wear gloves all the damned time?"

Marie stared pointedly at him for the disruption of her explanation and, instead, set about finding the cleansing cloth in the pile of hastily dropped supplies.

"…Apologies for interrupting, milady."

It was apparent that such was not a statement uttered often from the man. He had turned from her again, and did Marie not know better, she would think she imagined it. She very well may have.

"My Affliction is dangerous," she continued, "It… takes- thoughts, memories, ideals, other Afflictions. Too long held and a single touch bare of skin can kill. Now, you surely understand why I will not remove my gloves."

Logan's gaze shuttered, and Marie realized that any the progress she had made was to be lost. She did not blame the man. Revelation of her curse would deter anyone.

Depositing the cleansing supplies, Marie turned to leave. She had been foolish to even think she could convince him to take her along with him, especially once he learned of her nocuous skin.

Stupid girl, you should have secured the barbarian's assistance, first.

Faster than she thought possible, Logan gripped her clothed wrist, his hold firm, yet gentle.

He thrust the cleansing rag into her hand. Unspoken apology and request all in one. Dubiously, Marie took it and dipped it into the cooling water.

She worked the cloth over his cheek, again marveling at the unblemished skin uncovered by her efforts.

"What notions do you have, girl?"

"Foolish ones," she admitted, "I wished to leave with you."

The man's brows drew in surprise an instant before he scowled, blackly.

"I may not be missed immediately, but you sure as hell will. And you would have me take you on as an indefinite charge? A little ladyling like you is unsuited to the road."

Those were his objections? Not of the dangers of her cursed skin, but the thought that she would be a troublesome traveling companion?

"No, not indefinitely. I have a destination in mind, and I would pay you handsomely for the inconvenience of the escort."

"And I could kill you and take that coin with far less trouble," he countered.

Pausing in her ministrations, she scrutinized him.

"I do not believe you would, though you are set upon me believing the worst of you. Forget I spoke of it; it never happened," she tossed his words back at him. Marie thrust the cloth into his hand. His face cleaned, he could surely manage the rest.

"I'm not a knight out of one of your pretty little songs, girl. The sooner you realize that, the better."

Marie stood, slipping off the sodden gloves and thrusting them in her cloak's pocket.

"I did not ask for a knight. I know what shall happen to me, should I remain here. The only reason I have not yet been turned out is my lord father foresees my usefulness should it come to war, and I will leave on Samhain with or without your assistance."

She would have to find another or set out alone, regardless of what her visions told her. Within the castle, Piotr was the only other likely candidate. He was, however, bound in service to her lord father's ward, and the thought of dragging young Katya into her uncertain plans was untenable. There was no other.

Alone, it would be; drawing on the collected experiences she had taken with her Affliction. That would undoubtedly be the best course, though she feared opening her mind to those she had fought so long to block out.

"I shall return on the morrow with your provisions."

The next night the girl didn't come. Logan doubted her absence was due to spite. She was a determined little thing and wouldn't pass up one last opportunity to try to convince him to take her along, and damn him but he had half considered it.

No, the girl had been prevented from visiting. So much for his provisions, though his escape would be neater without the girl's interference.

The sun rose heralding the dawn of Samhain. He simply needed to wait for the bustle of the day to slip into the night's revelry to enact his departure.

Logan tentatively pulled at his bonds. A little maneuvering of his claws, and the metal would be no obstacle.

Once free from the chains, the day dragged slowly, leaving him with loathsome opportunity to examine his situation.

He should have killed the girl when he had the chance. He knew that he would not now, even given the opportunity.

Logan had not expected for the girl to do the work and come to him, nor had he expected her to be kind, of all things.

He could have been done with it that first night, but his curiosity, and her provocative scent, had gotten the better off him.

It was supposed to be easy. Get in, kill the heir, get out. In doing so he'd be paid as well as freed of his debt to the Outlander, Nur.

Being captured hadn't been Logan's first choice of method, though bursting into the Castle Darkholme with the exuberant Lee had admittedly carried less finesse and greater chance to be botched.

Logan to himself admitted that his detainment made things simpler and less likely to be traced back to the Outlander. Or would have been less likely, had Logan followed through with his charged duty. As it were, he had simply traded one prison for another. The former may catch up with him, however, this one would be easily departed.

His failure ensured that another would be sent. The thought rankled, but he ignored it, set on his own escape. The girl was not without resources. Though she didn't even know to be wary.

Dammit.

Logan slipped from his cage once eve settled and the festivities commenced.

His plans were disrupted as soon as he set foot on top of the landing, and he scented the living dead. Samhain, when the veils were thin and the dead walked. It seemed the mad Outlander had actually achieved his goal.

There were but a few of the uncanny soldiers, but given the raucous nature of the festivities, it could rapidly give way to a massacre. Forget war.

For an instant, Logan was torn.

He set off in the direction of the lord's family chambers, scenting his way to the girl through the castle proper, remaining shadowed and hidden.

Two guards were posted outside her door, a pair of sodding brutes he recognized keenly. The men were dead before they knew he was there, much less raise the alarm.

"Logan?"

The young woman stood from the bed, and he heard the clink of a metal tether binding her to the fixture.

Logan's vision went black with rage, and the next thing he registered was the snickt of his own retracting claws. The cuff lay neatly splayed into two parts.

"Oh," she relayed her surprise in a small voice.

Damn, he had never intended for her to know about them. Too late for it now. He heard the Wights down below, insinuating themselves into the crowd.

"You didn't come down and I couldn't-" He swiped a hand through his unkempt locks, frustrated that he was unable to find the words he needed to spur her into action. The truth was not an option, if he wished to retain the oddity that was her trust.

"Look, girl… Marie, you wanted to get away from here, right? I'll take you. Wherever you want to go."

"Why?" she asked, reeking of wariness.

Of course, the girl would choose presently to be suspicious of him.

"Because, damn it. You said it yourself. It's not safe here for you." Though for reasons other than those you suspect.

"But you said-"

"I changed my damned mind. And next time you mean to bribe me, try a keg of lager."

"I- Was that a jest? I did not realize you capable," she sniffed, contrarily.

He growled lowly; the girl frustrated him in more ways than one.

"I'm not leaving you behind," Logan blurted.

She looked him in the eyes then, rife with suspicion and disbelief. To think what he had wanted to begin with would come back to bite him in the ass. As it stood, he was seconds away from tossing the girl over his shoulder, escaping, and sorting her out later.

"What was the first thing you said to me?" The girl demanded.

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"Answer me, or I go nowhere with you," she warned.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this, girl!"

Marie remained unswayed, her chin jutting out stubbornly. They really needed to leave. Immediately.

"I don't know! Something about dungeons not being a place for girls to play!"

The look of relief that crossed her features threw him.

"This is not a trap," she said.

"A trap? You were angling for this not two days prior."

"I- yes. Though there is another who could take on your form to toy with me."

The girl's eyes averted.

Shit, that other already had. That would be an Afflicted to be steer clear of, but there were more pressing matters to occupy them. The walking dead below taking their first victims, for one.

"Grab only what you need and let's go."

"Yes," she agreed.

Moments later, Marie's gloved hand gripped his bare one, and they stole away to freedom in the black night.