She hoped the book had been worth keeping.
Far to the north, beyond rivers, forests and kingdoms, snow still lingered beneath the shadow of the Wall.
Beyond that Wall, the world watched with ancient, patient eyes.
She wondered where Benjen rode now.
Whether the North still held winter in its forests.
Whether he still carried the weathered book she had placed into his hands.
She had never expected another meeting.
Life rarely returned people to the same crossroads.
Still...
Today she prayed that someone else would be as well.
Without warning another memory rose before her.
Not Starfall.
Harrenhal.
A spring afternoon beneath ancient ash trees.
A quiet northern boy who had admitted he did not know who he might have become had he not been born a Stark.
"You sound exactly like my mother."
"I delivered your mother."
The answer drew the smallest laugh from everyone in the room.
It disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
Laughter still felt unfamiliar within Starfall.
When the pain eased, Elyra turned her head toward the open window.
Beyond it, sunlight finally touched the highest tower.
White stone blushed gold.
The sight had always been her favorite part of morning.
Even as a child she had believed the castle looked reborn each sunrise.
The shutters stood open despite the cool morning air.
She wanted to hear the sea.
It reminded her to breathe.
"You are doing well," Maera said.
"So everyone insists."
"They insist because it is true."
Elyra smiled despite herself.
She had buried some.
Delivered many more.
Experience had taught her that noble births differed little from humble ones.
Pain cared nothing for banners.
Inside the chamber, Lady Elyra gripped the carved oak frame of her bed as another wave of pain swept through her.
The corridors outside Lady Elyra's chambers remained unusually still.
Servants crossed them on softened feet.
Doors opened gently.
Voices never rose above whispers.
The old midwife, Maera, had attended three generations of Dayne children.