Author's Note: Here I am, yet again with another story! Raven Rivers is the bastard daughter of Robert Baratheon and a noblewoman who is raised by the Starks and becomes a blacksmith. Her faceclaim is the stunning Gemma Arterton. Hope you enjoy the story!

CHANGE

It was nights like these, where memories and guilt forbade sleep from taking her, that she found herself standing at the very top of the Wall, staring out into the lands where her enemies had lived. They lived among her now. Some in cells, some in the rooms next to hers.

All she had done, her greatest sin, had all been for naught. As always, her mind proposed murder as the first option. The only difference was that, this time, she had to live among those whose loved ones she had blown into smithereens.

They called her Wannokara for her sins, which roughly translated to the Commander of Death. She carried the spirits of their dead inside her. Wildling tradition had turned her into something half-feared and half-worshipped, but hated by all. Raven understood, of course.

"You shouldn't be out here." Raven didn't even have to look for the source, she recognised his voice as well as she could recognise her own. "It isn't safe for a woman alone."

"Well, I know your fellow criminals won't harm me. Some may be extraordinarily daft but they know well that they need me."

"And what about the wildlings? They want you dead, you know," Jon said softly.

Raven swallowed, hiding her fear with a nonchalant shrug. "What's life without a little risk?" He shot her look. "I know they want me dead, Jon. But none of the wildlings will do it themselves. The only wildlings I should be worried about is Mance Raydar, and he's locked up at the moment."

"You've heard about the wildling myth, I see," Jon surmised. "The one who kills the Wannokara gets her power."

"It's no myth to them."

"No, it's not," Jon agreed. "Mance Raydar wants to kill you. It was one of his terms."

Shock etched on her face, Raven snapped her head over to meet Jon's worried eyes. "And what did you say?"

"No, of course. Stannis agreed, but I made it clear that if they wanted to harm you, they'd have to go through me first." She let out a relieved sigh. Jon smiled at her. "You didn't think I'd give you up so easily, did you?"

She smiled back at him. It was forced and strained. She had never been one to smile easily, but the older she got, the more sins she committed and the more lives she took, the fewer her smiles became.

As the smile slipped off her face, she stared down at the charred ground many feet beneath them. Ashes of the dead decorated the ground. Some had been turned into canon-fodder by Raven's inventions, others had been burned following the battle so the Walkers wouldn't be able to revive them. Her stomach churned. This was what they had become.

"How did we end up here?"

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

When she was only a child, before she actually had things to do during the day, Raven used to spend hours without end with the messenger birds. No one ever knew where to find her. Only Jon and Robb knew where she went when she disappeared for hours at a time. They never mentioned it to her, but Raven had an inkling that they had known.

As crazy as it sounded, when she was with the messenger ravens, she felt like she had belonged. Those ravens were in cages too, waiting for a time when they could be useful and set free to deliver a message. Raven had been waiting for that time too, and it came when Lord Stark had allowed her to be Mikken's apprentice.

Ladies weren't supposed to be blacksmiths, but Raven Rivers was no lady. She was a bastard – the bastard of a king and high lady, but a bastard nonetheless.

She fastened her apron tightly and picked up a hammer when she entered the smithy. She hammered a heated sword-to-be into shape, and when she was done she heated it and cooled it with equal intervals. It took hours, and Raven was covered in soot and sweat when she was done.

Wiping her face with a cloth, she glanced outside and saw that it was night time already. She smiled. As strenuous as her profession was, she wouldn't give it up for the world. She loved being busy and useful.

"Raven!" she heard a masculine voice shout.

She spun around, smiling when she saw Robb sprinting towards her. "Hello, Robb," she greeted cheerfully.

"I presume you're not skipping dinner again tonight," Robb said, half-joking, half-chastising.

"What are you, my mother?" Raven replied.

"I was thinking more of a protector. A knight in shining armour."

"That makes sure I eat dinner," she smirked up at him. "Sounds more like a mother to me. Or a nursemaid, perhaps. Should I find Lord Stark and tell him that his heir has had a change of heart about his future?"

"Ha-ha," Robb deadpanned, though the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a small smile. "You're hilarious."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"So you are eating with us tonight, yes?" Robb asked again.

Rolling her eyes, a fond smile found its way on her face. No one could make her smile like Robb. "Yes. I just need to change and wash first, if that's alright with you?" she jokingly asked for his permission, giving him a gentle punch on the shoulder.

"Yes, good idea. You do reek."

"Excuse me," she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched as they approached her room. "You don't smell like roses either, Robb Stark!"

"What are you, my mother?" Robb mocked.

"Says the man who, for some reason, felt the need to walk me to my room for my protection. Sounds like a mother to me."

"It was on the way to my room," Robb insisted, flustered.

She patted his arm and gave him a pitying look, though she couldn't help the grin that broke out on her face. "Your room is in the west wing. This is the east wing," she explained slowly.

"Right..." he replied, eyes darting around him, looking anywhere but at the girl in front of him. "Well. My mistake. I'll see you at dinner."

"Right," she repeated, giving him a short nod and a small laugh as he jogged away.

Shaking her head, she opened the door to her room, immediately shedding her clothes as soon as she was inside. She grabbed a cloth and wetted it in a bucket of water left in the fireplace. She dragged the cloth all over her body, leaving no part untouched by the warm water.

Once she was satisfied that she no longer smelt like dung, she put on a dress and did her hair. She pulled out the tie at the end of her plait, allowing her hair to fall down her back in an abundance of dark brown curls. She pinned up two sides of her hair and left the rest down.

Looking in the mirror, she barely recognised her reflection. This wasn't her. She felt more alike the girl with soot on her skin and sweat on her forehead than the girl with the pretty dress and the nice hair. She sighed and pulled herself together. She wasn't the first girl forced to act a way she didn't agree with, and she sure as hell would not be the last.

She hadn't gone to dinner in three days. That didn't mean she hadn't eaten. Jon had brought her dinner to the smithy whenever he saw that she wasn't there, which was every time she hadn't shown up. Last night he had scolded her for not attending, for "leaving him alone with all the trueborns."

It was an inside joke they had. Raven had started it when they were only nine and ten. Jon was ill and missed dinner, so Raven scolded him for "leaving her alone among the trueborns." Being baseborn was a sensitive subject for Jon, but Raven liked to take the mickey out of the status of their birth. It helped her come to terms with it and she found that Jon enjoyed her jokes too.

"Look at you," Robb said, smiling, as he approached her. "I can actually see your face again. I miss the soot."

"Oh, fuck off," Raven replied, shoving his shoulder lightly.

He chuckled and offered his arm, which Raven took, but not before sending him an amused look. Robb was ever the gentleman.

"You don't smell like cow dung anymore," she stated, looking him up and down. If she wasn't so prideful, she would have complimented him on his appearance. Robb always cleaned up well.

"I can see that's the best compliment I'll ever receive from you." Raven nodded in agreement. Robb laughed and added, "So thank you, I suppose. You look great too."

She pressed her lips together and looked away, feeling her cheeks redden. Her appearance had never mattered much to her, but Robb's compliment made her stomach jump and her face flush. It was something Raven hadn't experienced before. What was wrong with her?

They didn't speak after that. She sat down in between Robb and Jon and started eating her dinner quietly.

"How was your day, Raven?" Jon asked in an attempt to start conversation.

"Same as any other. And yours?"

"Good. Very good, actually," he smirked over at Robb. "I beat Robb three times in a duel."

"You tripped me over the last time," Robb countered, almost growling. "Doesn't count."

"Fine. I beat Robb twice in a duel. Happy?"

Robb grumbled in response. At this, Raven couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, boys. Your competitiveness and fragile masculinity is what makes my days a little brighter." She patted them both on the shoulder, tears forming in her eyes from laughing so hard.

"Remember when you used to make me and Robb teach you how to use a sword," Jon recalled, grinning at the memory.

"Ah, yes," Robb joined in, his bad mood suddenly forgotten. "Poor little Raven felt left out because we were practising our swordplay while she was off making blankets. How could we refuse our favourite little bird?"

Both Robb and Jon were engulfed in a fit of laughter. Raven frowned and folded her arms, watching them skit her ten year old self.

"You were terrible!" Robb exclaimed in between chuckles. The whole table was listening now, all smiling or laughing at Raven's failed attempt at learning swordplay. Raven was just waiting for Theon to make a malicious remark. Robb continued, "You'd take a swing and fall over. Every time you aimed the wooden sword at us you'd miss. I don't know how you managed it."

"Ha-ha," Raven deadpanned.

"Now, boys. Raven may not be the best swordswoman, but she has her own gift," Lord Stark interjected, giving Raven a kind smile. "Raven's gift is just as useful as swordsmanship, maybe even more so. When you boys learn how to make weapons, you can mock Raven's inability to use them. But for now..." His smile was kind, even though he was scolding his sons. "Keep quiet."

Raven smirked proudly at the two frowning boys. She raised her eyebrows, challenging them to say something else, but Robb and Jon stayed quiet. Both boys had an immense amount of respect for their father. If Lady Stark had spoken the same words (which she probably wouldn't have considering her disapproval of Raven's profession) Robb wouldn't have responded the same way. He would have kept laughing. Jon, however, responded to all adults the same way. With immediate obedience. Raven thought of herself as half-way between Robb and Jon in the area of obedience.

Once they had all finished eating their dinner, Lord Stark started speaking, his voice booming around the Great Hall so that even the servants at the back table could hear him.

"I have an important announcement to make," Lord Stark revealed. The Great Hall quietened. Not even a whisper could be heard. "I received word this afternoon that King Robert and his family along with the rest of the royal household will be coming to Winterfell within the next week. You'll all be expected to help prepare the castle for the royal visit. That is all," he finished. He was a man of few words.

"The king?" Robb exclaimed, his voice held a mixture of shock and excitement. "And he never told me?"

"He just did," Raven reminded slowly, as though speaking to an imbecile.

Robb shot her a look. "You know what I mean."

"Your father's a busy man. Maybe he just didn't have time to tell you in between planning for the king's visit and ruling the North," Raven explained with a sharp look. When it came to his father, Robb got offended very easily. It was exhausting having to reassure him every time he felt slighted by his father.

The Stark heir continued to grumble under his breath. Raven decided to leave him and turned to Jon, shaking her head. "Trueborn problems."

"Trueborn problems," Jon agreed with a small smile, walking out of the Great Hall with her. When he saw that she was heading in the opposite direction of her room, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"To the library," she answered.

"Do you even sleep? When you're not in the smithy, you're in the library. I'm worried about you," he admitted.

"Don't be. I'm only going to find a book," Raven lied. The last time she went to the library after dinner was only a week ago, and Jon found her sleeping there the next morning.

"If I find that you're still there..."

"You won't," Raven assured. "Go to your room, Jon. Worry about yourself."

Reluctantly, Jon nodded and walked away. Raven made her way to the library, her footsteps echoing in the dark corridor. Winterfell at night was almost terrifying. If she hadn't grown up in Winterfell, she'd be terrified walking the corridors alone this late at night. But alas, she knew everyone living in the castle, she knew every corridor. Nothing would hurt her within these walls.

There wasn't a single person in the library. Raven was glad, that's the way she liked it. She was afraid to take out the parchment when anyone else was in the library, in fear that they'd judge her. She found the book she'd been studying the last couple of weeks – Weapons of the Ancient World – and flipped to the chapter she had started last night.

The Mystery of Black Powder.

It was a recipe that no one had yet mastered, not even the greatest chemists or maesters, and perhaps it was foolish for Raven to think that she could. For months she'd been studying various books that mentioned the use of black powder, whether or not it was described in great detail. The mystery of black powder started in Volantis. The Volantene people wanted to take over Essos after the Valyrian Freehold's collapse, and their greatest weapons were explosives. By studying the varying theories written down by maesters, she concluded that the one thing all the maesters agreed on was the use of black powder in these advanced weapons.

What the maesters hadn't discovered yet, was how to make black powder. But Raven had a theory.

Volantis was known for its production of some very rare materials, such as saltpetre. It was used by the cooks in Winterfell's kitchen to preserve food and by Maester Luwin in some of his medicines. It made tough meats softer as well, which gave Raven the idea to use it as an ingredient in black powder.

She threw in some charcoal and crushed golden rocks from the hot springs as well to use as fuel. She'd seen the maids use the golden rocks during winter when all the trees had withered and remembered it had produced a smoke. She added some water into the bowl and stirred until she was satisfied.

Raven tip-toed to the smithy with the bowl of black powder in her hand. She poured the black powder into a cannon her and Mikken had made a few months ago with the help of a few old books. The cannon was charred from the amount of times Raven had tried to made black powder and failed. Last time she burnt her hand, the time before that she burnt the side of her face. Lord and Lady Stark made her promise she wouldn't try again after last time. Raven hated disobeying them, but she had a good feeling about this mixture.

She closed the hatch of the chamber of the cannon and wheeled it outside. Once she was a safe distance away from any person who could get hurt, she prepared the cannon for use, a procedure that took a good few minutes. She then lit the fuse of the cannon with the candle she'd been carrying. Anxiously, she waited for the boom.

And the boom came, but instead of the projectile being fired, a hot blaze was fired from the worn metal of the cannon. The fire shot towards her, causing her to turn to the side and double over, but the fire still reached the skin on her arm. It started off as just a sting in her arm and thigh before the pain became so unbearable she let out a scream.

The fire ceased after a few short seconds, but the damage was done. The sleeve on her left arm had burnt away. Her arm was covered in a nasty burn that would take weeks, even months, to heal. You'd think by now she'd be used to getting burnt, but every time it hurt even worse.

"RAVEN! RAVEN!" she heard Robb's shouts echo through the forest. It was only then she noticed the tree beside her was on fire. "There you are! I heard you scream, what-" His eyes landed on her badly burnt arm. "Seven hells, Raven, what were you thinking?!"

"I thought it would work this time! I really thought it would," she panted.

It was becoming hard to breathe and she was getting increasingly light-headed. Robb ran to her and wrapped his arm around her lower back, steadying her.

"We need to get you to Maester Luwin, can you walk?"

Raven nodded weakly. With Robb's help, she managed to walk seven steps before she collapsed into his arms. He hooked one arm around her waist and the other beneath her legs and carried her to the gate of Winterfell.

She could vaguely hear him yelling at the guards to get Maester Luwin and to wake up his parents. Raven heard another voice then. It was Jon, frantically asking if she was okay. Everyone was so loud. She just wanted it all to stop. She wanted to sleep.

"No, don't you dare close your eyes, Raven. Stay with me. Come on, stay with me," Robb muttered.

"I'm not dying," Raven mumbled back, half-opening her eyes. It was all she could manage. "Come on, Robb. I've been through worse than this."

"This is the last time. You hear me, Raven? I'm not letting you out of my sight ever again."

Her body rattled against Robb's chest as he ran up the stairs. She grunted in displeasure. "You could be a little more gentle you know."

"What happened?" Raven heard another voice – Lady Stark's.

"You know what happened," Robb replied gruffly.

"She was messing with that cannon again, wasn't she?" Lord Stark surmised. "I'm going to have that thing melted."

They were in Maester Luwin's quarters now. Robb gently laid her on a bed as Maester Luwin inspected her burns.

"She's going to be okay, isn't she?" Jon asked.

"Of course I am," Raven forced out. "All I need is some milk of the poppy and I'm good to go."

"Judging by the severity of these burns, you'll need lots of it," Maester Luwin commented. He pressed a cold rag against the burns on her arm. "Was anywhere else burnt?"

"My thigh," Raven replied, gritting her teeth.

"I'll have to ask you all to leave so I can tend to her burns," Luwin ordered. Raven heard mutters of agreement and footsteps. "That includes you, Jon."

"I'll be fine, Jon. Go," Raven told him. Luwin took the rag away from her skin and started applying an ointment to the burns. The sting of the ointment caused her writhe and groan in pain.

Eventually, she heard his footsteps exit the room.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Luwin asked, the disapproval clear in his voice.

"It's not as if I enjoy getting burnt. I wish that I didn't," she responded as the maester pulled down her trousers to tend to the burn on her left leg. "It's just a necessary evil."

"You really believe you can figure it out, don't you?"

"Well, someone will eventually. Might as well be me," Raven said.

From the corner of her eye she saw Luwin's faint smile. "I've always admired your determination and intellect, but this... it worries me, Raven. You haven't been fatally burnt so far, but I wonder how long your luck will last. I think it's time to end your experiments."

She pressed her lips together. Every time she hurt herself trying to make black powder, she promised Luwin and Lord and Lady Stark that she wouldn't try again, and then she'd end up breaking her promise to them. But every time she tried to make black powder, she got closer to figuring it out. If she made that promise again, she'd only break it.

"I'm not going to make a promise that I know I'm going to break," Raven argued.

"I'm not asking you to." He gave her a sad smile. "I'm asking you to make that promise and keep it. The next time your experiment goes wrong, you could end up with one less limp. I can heal burns, but I can't reattach limbs."

"As long as it's not my right arm, I'm okay," Raven tried to jest. Luwin didn't find it very funny and sent her a short glare.

Raven sighed, deciding not to push the old maester any further. He handed her a glass filled with a drop of milk of the poppy, which she gladly took, downing it in one go. The effects were immediate. The agonising pain in her right arm and thigh had almost disappeared, being reducing to a light singing sensation. Raven felt her eyelids go heavy. She closed them, planning on only doing so for a few short seconds, but within a few moments sleep had taken her.

In a dark, dreary room with walls marred by blood, Raven was stirring a strange mixture. It took her a while to realise that the mixture was black powder. As always, Raven was sure that, this time, the mixture would work. So, she placed the mixture into the cannon and lit the fuse. She was so sure of herself that she stood only a mere inch away from the back of the cannon, even though her better sense was telling her not to. That was when she realised she was dreaming. As daring and impulsive as she was, Raven at least had some common sense.

The cannon fired once the fuse had burned. This time, the cannonball was projected through the wall of the smithy. Overcome with joy that it had worked, Raven ran out of the smithy to see how far the cannonball was thrown. When she saw the result, she was no longer overjoyed.

Winterfell was burning down as a result of her invention. Raven was surrounded by flames and snow, fire and ice. She saw people she loved burn to ash. Robb, Jon, Lord and Lady Stark... everyone. Everyone was dead. Because of her.

"You are destruction made flesh," a man spoke from behind her.

When she turned around, she didn't see a man. She saw a god. Clad in blacksmith's armour and holding a mighty hammer, the giant man stared down at her coldly.

"This is only a small semblance of the destruction you will cause. You will be the one to combat ice with fire. You will make buildings turn to dust and kingdoms tremble. You will kill thousands with the strength of your mere mortal mind. Thrice will you reign fire on your enemies. Once for love, once for death, and once for life. With the force of your hand, you will bring the world into the new age, or you will burn it to the ground." The giant man then paused, the side of his mouth curling into a snarl. "Or perhaps both."

"Who are you?" Raven croaked, her voice weak and trembling.

"You know who I am, child," the god replied. "I am you and you are I."

"What does that mean?" Raven called. The god only smiled. "Answer me, who are you?"

"I am you and you are I."

The god transformed then into a beautiful raven with wings aflame and fled towards her, engulfing her vision with black wings. The last thing she heard was a loud croak before everything disappeared.

Raven awoke with a scream.

Her hands immediately went to her face, checking to see if she was burned. When she found that she wasn't, her breathing slowed slightly, but she was nonetheless still panicked.

"Raven, Raven, you're alright, I'm here," Jon promised her.

She blinked, not sure if he was real. Jon clasped her hand in his and gave it a short, reassuring squeeze. Raven squeezed back, eyes wide and alight with fear.

"Am I still dreaming?" she asked.

Jon smiled and brushed a loose hair from her face. "No. This is real. You're wide awake."

Nodding slowly, Raven suddenly became aware of the headache raging in her head. She gingerly laid back, refusing to loosen her grip on Jon's hand. Glancing at the area around her, she realised that she was no longer in Maester Luwin's quarters, but rather in her own bedroom.

"When was I moved from Luwin's quarters?" she questioned.

"A few days ago," Jon answered. "Four, I think."

"Four?!" Raven exclaimed, jaw slack. "I've been asleep for four days?"

"Five, actually. The milk of the poppy that Luwin gave you was very strong," Jon explained. Raven spotted the worry etched on his face. "Your burns got infected. He had to peel off the infected flesh."

She glanced down at her bandaged arm. She still didn't feel a thing. "That sounds painful."

"You didn't stir at all during the whole procedure."

"Like you said, the milk of the poppy was strong." Raven gave him a crooked, lazy smile. "Or maybe I've burnt myself so many times that my pain tolerance has gone through the roof."

"That's not funny, Raven," Jon scolded, frowning. "You could have seriously hurt yourself."

"Lighten up, Jon. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"You almost died when your wound got infected," he told her. Raven had no retort for that. He had shocked her into silence. "You were so pale and clammy... you didn't even look like you. I was so worried, Raven. Me and Robb have taken turns watching you ever since. How can you care so little about your own life?"

"Its not that, Jon, and you know it," Raven argued. "I don't want to die."

"Then why don't you start acting like it?"

Raven opened her mouth to bite out a response before she was interrupted by someone knocking on her door. She knew exactly who it was when they didn't wait for a response. Usually she'd be glad to see Robb. This was the exception. Raven grimaced, knowing that she was about to get a similar lecture from Robb.

"You're awake," Robb observed, a smile brightening his face.

"I am," was Raven's reply.

Jon looked between them. Raven didn't miss the irritation in his eyes that remained from their previous discussion. She was a little miffed at him too. Of course she wanted to live! But what was the point of living if she couldn't do what she loved?

"You should go get some rest, Jon. I'll take it from here," Robb stated, patting his brother on the shoulder.

She wanted Jon to argue, like he usually would, but instead, Jon merely nodded and left. Raven sighed and rolled her head so that her eyes were facing the ceiling.

"Jon thinks that I have a death wish," Raven informed him, knowing that he was eventually going to ask why Jon was being so hostile. She met Robb's worried eyes. "I don't."

"Raven..."

"Don't, Robb. Jon's already given me a lecture on how I almost died and how I should be more careful," Raven interrupted. She let out a short sigh. "Just, tell me about how things have been. The king. Have they arrived yet?"

"Not yet. Mother expects them to arrive by tomorrow," Robb replied.

Raven nodded. "I should be on my feet by then."

"Luwin said that you'll be on bed-rest for three more days," Robb said in a tone that commanded no arguments.

She argued anyway. "Well I just keep surprising that man."

"Rav-"

"Come on, Robb. You're not going to rob me the chance to meet my father for the first time," Raven argued, smirking at the boy sitting at her bedside.

"Actually..." Robb began, glancing at her nervously. "Mother was thinking of keeping you inside while the royal party enters. She's worried about the queen... seeing you."

"Ah... I've heard Queen Cersei isn't the nicest to her husband's bastards."

Robb winced at the word and gave her a pitying look. Raven didn't want his pity. Why should he pity her? Being a bastard wasn't a terrible thing, the stigma around it was. He should pity their society for being so stupid.

Raven thought about Lady Stark's idea, ultimately deciding that it was a good choice. "Fair enough. I was only joking about seeing the king anyway. He's never paid any mind to me, he probably won't now."

"I'm sorry, Raven," Robb said, clasping her hand in his.

"Don't be." Raven forced a smile. "That oaf doesn't deserve to meet me, not the other way around."

In the end, Raven decided to not to stir outside her room. Jon brought her books from the library – none of which contained any mention of black powder or cannons, much to Raven's disappointment – that had kept her somewhat entertained for the last day. Robb and Jon also visited frequently, as did Bran, Rickon and Arya. Sansa, of course, was far too 'busy.'

Excitement bubbled in Raven's belly when she heard knocking on the door. She threw down the book and smiled, the thought of company brightening her mood.

"You're decent?" called Robb's voice.

"You ask me that every time," Raven called back, "and every time, I am. Get in here!"

The heir to Winterfell did as he was told, rushing in to her room with a gigantic smile on his face. Raven spotted a difference straight away.

"You've shaven!" she observed. Robb smirked and moved his face from side to side, giving her a full view of his freshly shaven face.

"That's not the only surprise," Robb told her and gestured for someone to join them in her room.

Raven sat up in anticipation of their new guest. The guest, however, wasn't 'someone,' but rather a wolf. A smile broke out on the blacksmith's face. Only a week ago they were little wolf pups, now they were the size of a large dog. Giggling as the wolf – Greywind, Robb had named him – rushed towards her, Raven ruffled his fur and tickled the area behind his ear, causing the wolf to stick out his tongue, evidently pleased.

"He likes you," Robb pointed out, a fond smile on his lips.

"And I like him," Raven cooed at the wolf, forgetting that he was an almost fully grown direwolf and not a little pup. "I thought he'd forgotten me."

"You're hard to forget."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Robb chuckled. "I'm afraid this'll have to be a short visit. The royal party was only a mile away when Bran checked last."

"Oh, Bran," Raven said fondly, shaking her head with a smile on her face. "No matter what your mother says, nothing can keep that boy from climbing."

"He's wilful, alright. Reminds me of someone else I know," Robb responded.

Her eyes narrowed at him, thinking that his comment was a jab. She was about to come up with some heated retort before she saw the large grin on Robb's face. Grinning as well, Raven threw a pillow at him.

"Ouch," Robb said sarcastically. His sarcasm was warranted considering that the pillow literally bounced off him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Raven asked, a smile teasing her lips.

Robb snorted a laugh. "I see how it is. I'll see you later, Raven."

"See you, Robb."

When he left, Raven picked up the book she was reading. It wasn't the best book, but it passed the time nonetheless. She felt herself drifting off and rested the book on her stomach. The next thing she heard, was loud laughter that she didn't recognise. Yet, she could guess who it was.

With difficulty, Raven managed to get herself out of bed and stumbled towards the window. The royal party had arrived and was crowding Winterfell's courtyard. Raven could guess the identities of some of their guests, namely the golden-haired brothers standing side-by-side and their sister, Queen Cersei. Despite the abundance of songs and poems about her beauty, they all paled in comparison to the real thing.

Queen Cersei sauntered over to her husband and the Stark family. She muttered something to her husband, who simply ignored her and walked away with Lord Stark. So the rumours were true, then. The king and queen's relationship was anything but true love. For some, sick reason, Raven was pleased by that.

Lord Stark led the king towards the door in the west wing. It was the quickest way to the crypts, so Raven guessed that King Robert wanted to see his lost love Lyanna. She wasn't fool enough to even hope that the king was visiting her.

Something happened then. Something that ignited Raven's long buried hope that her father cared about her, even from his far away castle in the south and his lovely southern wife and children.

The king glanced up at her and stopped in his tracks. Raven froze, regretting her decision to stand by the window, so easily exposed. For a while it was like time had stopped. Raven observed the man who was her father. What a strange thought, that this man was to her what Lord Stark was to Robb. Her whole life she had imagined what he looked like. As a child, she pictured him as a strong man; tall, broad and brave and wielding a large hammer. As an adolescent, she pictured him rather accurately as a fat man with a beard and superiority complex.

She was suddenly brought back to reality – shocked back, in truth – when the king lowered his head in greeting to his daughter. Stunned, Raven blinked a few times, before she gathered herself and dipped a curtsy. She couldn't find it in her to smile. This man wouldn't care about her one bit if she wasn't Lord Stark's ward and a noblewoman's daughter. Had she been born a whore's daughter, her 'father' wouldn't give two shits about her.

King Robert tore his eyes away from Raven, taking a few moments to gather himself before following Lord Stark into the crypt. Raven sighed and walked away from the window, well aware of the queen's eyes burning a hole in her head.

Frankly, she couldn't wait for the royal party to get the fuck out of Winterfell and leave them all in peace.