The cottage smelled of firewood, damp moss, and sizzling meat.
Levi sat near the hearth on a worn bench, half-wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket, eyeing the cast-iron pan where Mae was busy cooking. Fat crackled as she tossed in another strip of pale, marbled meat. It didn't exactly scream "appetizing," but after two days of existential panic, hunger didn't care what the menu was.
"I hope you like lizard," Mae said, giving the pan a stir. "Swamp kind. Not poisonous—well, not after you gut it right. It's not much, but around here, hard bread and a pinch of salt is already a feast. You won't find this kind of kindness just anywhere."
Levi leaned forward. "You saying this is charity?"
"I'm saying this is supper. Eat it or starve. I don't care which," she said, though the smirk on her face betrayed the bluff.
He smiled faintly. "Thanks… I think."
Mae stirred the meat again and tossed in some dried herbs. The smell shifted—earthy, slightly peppery.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Now, while I cook, tell me again—where were we in our conversation?"
Levi rubbed his temples. "Right… I was asking about where I was. The year, mostly. But that's clearly a lost cause. So let's try something more useful. Tell me about Moat Cailin. Who rules it? What gods do people here worship? Customs I should know so I don't accidentally insult someone and get myself skinned alive?"
Mae grunted, flipping a strip of meat with the edge of a wooden spoon. "Moat Cailin's been in ruins since before my grandfather's time. Nasty place, more stone and moss than home. No lord holds it now, just swamp and ghosts, if you believe the stories."
She pulled up a stool and sat across from him, the firelight catching the creases in her weathered face.
"You're in Bogwater. A village so small the crows forget we exist. We follow the Old Gods here, same as most in the Neck. We don't kneel to idols or sing to seven-faced gods like they do down south. We remember the faces in the trees."
Levi blinked. "Old Gods. Trees with faces. Sure. Totally normal." He ran a hand through his tangled hair. "I feel like I'm failing a geography quiz in a fantasy novel."
Mae snorted and handed him a wooden plate piled with strips of cooked lizard, some toasted moss-bread, and a pinch of dried berries. It looked like a child's meal, but Levi's stomach growled like it had been slapped.
He muttered a thanks and started eating. It wasn't bad—chewy and gamey, but warm and strangely comforting.
After a few bites, Mae leaned in slightly. "All right, stranger. My turn to ask."
Levi looked up, cheeks half-puffed with food. "Turn for what?"
"To ask you questions. You've had enough of mine."
He swallowed hard. "Fair."
She tilted her head. "You said you weren't from anywhere near here, but never gave a name."
He hesitated, then gave a reluctant shrug. "Levi. Levi Hallow."
Mae squinted at him. "Hallow?"
"Yeah."
"That your house name?"
"What?"
She put her plate down. "Are you a noble? Some bannerman's lost son? Or a bastard with more pride than sense? Folk don't go flinging surnames around unless they're blooded or branded."
Levi blinked. "Oh. Right. Yeah, where I come from, everyone has a surname. It's… a thing."
Mae frowned. "Must be a land full of lords."
He chuckled. "Ha. More like a land full of people pretending to be important."
She studied him, eyes narrowing. "Hallow. Never heard of it."
"Good," he muttered. "Let's keep it that way."
Mae leaned back. "And where's this land of make-believe titles and strange manners?"
Levi opened his mouth… then closed it again. How exactly did one explain the modern world to a woman who thinks a kitchen knife is a treasured heirloom?
"Far away," he finally said.
Mae raised a brow. "Far as in Dorne? Or far as in 'mad as a wet hen'?"
Levi laughed, despite himself. "Farther than Dorne. Let's just say it's not on the map."
They ate in relative silence for a few more minutes. Levi tried not to shovel food too quickly, but every bite soothed something raw in his core. It wasn't just hunger—it was the sense of grounding. Warmth, a roof, conversation. The chaos of the last day faded for a moment.
Mae eventually broke the quiet. "You talk strange, dress strange, and ask questions like a blind Maester. But you don't feel dangerous."
"I get that a lot," Levi said, picking at his moss bread.
She gave a slow nod. "Still… if you start howling at the moon or burning yourself with swamp oil, I'll know you've gone fully mad."
He smirked, then paused. "Mae… why are you helping me?"
She didn't answer immediately. The fire popped, and the shadows danced again.
"Because I've seen mad men. Starving ones. Violent ones. You're neither," she said quietly. "You just look… lost. Like your soul slipped sideways."
Levi stared at her. "That might be the most accurate description I've heard yet."
Mae cracked a small smile. "Then you're welcome, Levi Hallow. Mad or not."