The sky glowed orange over Casterly Rock with the sun sinking low.
A small balcony hung off a tower, its stone floor smooth and gray edged by a railing with little carvings of open-mouthed animals.
The sea stretched out below, waves rolling in with a low steady rumble.
A chair with a worn cushion sat against the wall and a table beside it held a clay bowl with a bruised pear inside.
The air carried a salty smell.
A girl stood near the railing holding the baby against her shoulder. Her dress was brown, frayed at the hem and her black hair fell in tangles down her back. She rocked him slowly, her arms thin but firm, her fingers tapping his blanket as she looked out at the water.
Her voice came out fast, a string of sounds he didn't know, rising and falling like a bird call.
The boy felt her breath on his cheek, warm and quick, but the noises she made were strange, not like the sharp yells or soft songs from his old place.
His blanket slid down one arm letting the breeze touch his skin, cold and prickly.
His green eyes blinked at the orange sky, the colors blurring together.
He didn't like this spot. It was too high, too open and the edge too close. His chest tightened, a fear he couldn't shake. He wanted to crawl away and find a corner, a wall to press against but his legs wouldn't bend right and his arms wouldn't lift him.
A tingling ran through his hands, a buzz he didn't understand, making them twitch.
He was stuck, small and helpless, and the big world around him felt wrong.
Steps scratched the stone behind them. The girl turned, her hold on him tightening making his blanket bunch up.
A boy stood there, his hair yellow and bright catching the last of the sun. His shirt was loose, green with a stitched shape on it and his feet were bare, toes curling on the cold floor.
He held a small sack, lumpy and tied with string swinging it as he walked closer. His eyes, blue-green flicked to the girl then to the baby.
He made a short and high sound like a question with his head tilting. The girl answered, her voice quick again, a jumble of noises that meant nothing to the baby. She shifted him, turning his body so his face pointed at the yellow-haired boy.
The boy knelt, his knees on the stone and dropped the sack beside him. It landed with a soft thud, spilling a few dried beans.
He leaned in close, his breath warm on the baby's face, his eyes big and searching. The baby stared back, his small hands opening, a pull inside him he couldn't name.
The yellow-haired boy held out his hand, his fingers spread wide and his skin scratched and dirty.
He waited, still, his mouth moving with more soft and low strange sounds.
The baby reached, his arm slow and trembling and grabbed the boy's finger. His grip closed tight, harder than he thought he could and the buzz in his hand growing sharp.
The yellow-haired boy's eyes went wide and he made a quick noise, a laugh. He didn't pull away, he just let his finger stay, wiggling it a little and his face breaking into a smile with teeth showing.
The baby felt warmth spreading fast in his chest. That laugh and that smile; it hit him hard, it was a light in a dark place.
The boy's hand was rough and real, and he was not pushing him away, he was not cold. It made him think of something lost, a touch he couldn't see clear; a hand pulling him close and keeping him safe.
His eyes burned, wet at the edge and he held on tighter, his fingers shaking. He didn't want this to stop, didn't want the yellow-haired boy to go. The fear in his stomach softened just a little, replaced by something new, something good.
The girl made a sharper sound now, her arm moving under him. The yellow-haired boy answered, his voice light and still smiling, his free hand brushing his hair back.
The baby didn't know the words and didn't care. That smile stayed, and the boy's finger didn't leave even when the baby squeezed again harder, the buzz in his hand buzzing stronger.
The yellow-haired boy laughed once more, softer, and tilted his head like he was waiting for something.
The girl shifted, her feet scuffing the stone as she stood. The sky was gray now and the orange gone. She said more words, quick and loud and started walking toward the door.
The yellow-haired boy let his hand slowly slip free like he didn't want to. The baby's fingers closed on nothing, and a sharp pain hit his chest with a cry escaping his throat.
His eyes stayed on the boy and on that smile, begging him not to leave.
The yellow-haired boy picked up his sack, beans rolling back inside and stood. He looked back from the doorway, his smile fading but his eyes still soft and warm. He made one last quiet sound then turned and walked away, his steps echoing down the hall.
The girl carried the baby inside through a narrow passage with walls of gray stone. The air grew still, the sea's rumble faint behind them.
She set him in a crib, its wood scratched and plain, and covered him with a thicker blanket. The boy lay there, his hand still warm where he'd held on.
The buzz was gone, but the strong and strange feeling stayed.
He didn't know who the yellow-haired boy was and he didn't know the noises they made, but that smile, that laugh; they were his now, a piece of something good in this big scary place.
His chest hurt, a mix of want and hope and he kept his eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling, holding tight to that moment until sleep took him.