The Collared Wolf
by Crippled Canary
CHAPTER 1: A FAVOURABLE ARRANGEMENT
If a person could die of anxiety, she would be a rotting corpse.
Lynette Stark, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn, was trembling like a leaf. She was the eldest of the Stark children but had unfortunately been born a woman in a time made for men.
She was young, a girl full of dreams and hopes of a bright future. Winterfell was her home, all she had ever known and what she had come to love. She was a good daughter, a little cheeky perhaps, but nothing too terrible. Lynette was young, a little naïve and maybe even too innocent to be thrust into a place like King's Landing on such short notice.
The past seventeen months seemed to blur when she looked back at it. Lynette bowed her dark head and refused to look back into the mirror. She knew that tears were useless at this point. All she could do was clench her teeth, raise her chin and meet her fate with dignity.
For deep down, she knew, a wolf could never be tamed.
The snow had fallen thickly in the North the day before the Royal Caravan approached. Lynette remembered how she watched from the Broken Tower as squires and stable boys scraped the cobblestone clear of ice. Winterfell was abuzz with energy and waiting for the King's arrival with nothing but anticipation. The preparations were made, food was stocked up and wine barrels were stacked in the kitchens.
The stablemaster made room in the stables for the Royal horses. The kennel master made room in the kennels for the Royal dogs. The bannermen cleaned their armor and the guards sharpened their swords.
Lynette was not ready. She was not prepared for what was to come. She helped her Lady Mother with what she could, worked until the candles were burnt out and the moon was high in the night sky, but she wasn't ready for her home to be invaded.
She was not stupid. She knew how the Southerners were. They weren't honorable. She sometimes wondered if the cold of the North was what made a Northman more honorable than a Southerner. She knew the king would ask her Lord Father to become his Hand. She knew that her sister Sansa would most likely be betrothed to the prince by the end of the month.
Lynette felt as if her home was being taken away from her. She had grown up to the peaceful calm that was Winterfell. Her father worked hard to maintain the peace, and now, by the will of a king and an old friend, her father would be forced away from her. She never expected to lose him. He was the one constant in her life.
"Lynette!"
With the sound of her name being hollered up the ruins of the Tower, she was shocked back into reality. She dutifully answered the call, descended by way of stairs to appease her mother and returned to the solid ground of the courtyard. The morning air was crisp and clean and the cold resonated well with her Winter bones. Her mother fretted when she saw her eldest child's disheveled appearance.
"Oh!" Lady Catelyn exclaimed, "Must you act like a boy so close to the king's arrival?!"
Lynette wanted to snip something biting back to her mother but restrained herself when her father appeared behind the Lady of Winterfell with a smile shining in his wise eyes. Lynette smiled at her father and quickly dropped her head in respect. Her mother glanced behind her and relaxed into her husband's embrace. She momentarily forgot about her daughter's unkept mane of dark curls and her choice of clothing.
It was not that Lynette wanted to be a man. She liked being a woman.
She just hated wearing dresses and corsets and dainty slippers that disintegrated when they touched dirt. Trousers and Robb's old tunics suited her better.
"Forgive me, mother," she apologized and caught her father's twinkling eyes with her own, "I was waiting for father."
Eddard Stark chuckled at his wife's exasperated frustration, despite his worries and just kissed her forehead. The castle was not fully awake yet, only the few servants they kept were scurrying around. The courtyard was clean, and the stable lads were back to the horses. He knew his Lady Wife was not angry with Lynette. They both loved their untamable wolf of a daughter. Catelyn admired the fire in her daughter's eyes. She was a true heir of the North. Lynette Stark would be a formidable woman one day.
Ned released his wife from his arms and beckoned his eldest to him. With a kiss to her mother's cheek, Lynette followed her father down the well-trod path to the Godswood. She knew her father found peace there, sitting in front of the Weirwood tree. She supposed peace was something he cherished above all else.
She understood it.
Peace was everything. True peace was priceless.
"I wonder sometimes if you have Lyanna's soul," Ned murmured after they sat down. He sat on a rock, and Lynette sat at his feet as she did when she was no more than three. Back then, as her father's eldest child, she had been the apple of his eye and the one thing that kept him from drowning in guilt and grief.
"I have my own soul, father," Lynette replied hotly, "A soul that howls like a caged wolf."
Her father's deep gaze locked with her own and the wisdom in his grey eyes calmed her stormy insides. Ned knew that was exactly what his sister would have said. He smiled and kissed his daughter's forehead.
'Yes,' he mused, 'she had the soul of a wolf.'
Little did Lynette know that everything would go downhill from there. She was blissfully unaware that that would be the last memory she and her beloved father shared. She didn't know that she started dying there, in the Godswood in front of the Weirwood tree.
Lynette didn't feel very wolf-like when she had been informed that they were moving to King's Landing.
She cried her heart out when Bran fell from the Tower they had climbed together. She didn't feel the strength her home had instilled in her and the wolf on the Stark banners gave her no comfort as she stared down at Bran's mangled body.
She felt her heart shudder when Jon, sweet Jon told her he was taking the Black. Her half-brother in name, but full-brother in heart, was giving up his life like a sacrificial lamb. Lynette had hugged him tightly, dragged him into her chambers and made him promise to write to her. They held one another in bittersweet sadness and reminisced about the good times they shared. He was so much like her father… and yet, still so different.
Lynette didn't care for the King's death. She felt nothing when the child her sister Sansa loved was crowned King and a feast was thrown in his name.
She tried to be strong when her father was arrested. She was sure that he would be set free. The child in her was unwilling to accept that her father would never be set free again. Lynette didn't care that she was shaming a great house when she drank herself into a drunken stupor when she was informed her father was to be treated by Joffrey's mercy. She knew he had none. She felt like a failure. She didn't feel much like a direwolf when Ser Illyn Payne swung Ice through the air in a mighty arc and severed her loving father's head.
Lynette felt hollow and empty. She had lost everything. Her home was gone, her family was destroyed and everything that was left of her soul, her fiery Stark
soul, was broken and torn apart by pain.
She stopped eating. She wasted away.
The beatings that Ser Meryn gave her daily when Sister Sansa could no longer satisfy the king's sadistic urges, didn't matter to her anymore. It was the one time of the day that she felt a spark of anger, a flicker of her direwolf soul come back to life. Her own life was meaningless to her. Her body was littered with scars and bruises and her heart was tarnished, forced to accept that love was cruelty and that she would never taste the freedom she feasted on at Winterfell, unless she freed herself from the hell she was in.
Oft times, the lashes that should have stained Sansa's skin landed on her own. The bruises that started on Sansa's body littered her own flesh. Lynette protected her sister to the last and provoked Joffrey in court to keep his attentions away from her sister, Sansa.
They were never close in Winterfell. Sansa disapproved of Lynette's choice of clothing and Lynette disapproved of the way Sansa treated Jon. It was a petty thing. Now, the two Starks were inseparable. Lynette would die for Sansa and the promise she made to her father to protect her siblings. She couldn't protect Bran, wherever he was. All she could do was hope that Jon was alive and healthy. Like many promises that were made before the Starks left Winterfell, Jon's promise to write to her was not kept.
She missed his melancholic eyes and his tender smile.
There, in the cave of horned lions, the two wolves finally forged a pack.
The Battle of the Blackwater shook the Gates of the Keep. It was blazing with red-hot flames of wildfire and for a moment, Lynette allowed herself to imagine a future for her and her sister if the King perished in the blaze. Meagor's Holdfast was barred from the inside by the man who murdered, because she refused to say executed, her father and she and Sansa and the other ladies of Court were nested in the safe little hideout.
She thought back to the way her sister had demeaned the king in the Throne Room only minutes before. She was proud of her sister. Perhaps there was some wolf left in her yet. Sandor Clegane beheld her sweet sister with adoration and hunger burning in his eyes. If only she could have looked past his hideous appearance. He would have made her happy in his own pragmatic way. He would have made her laugh with his foul-mouthed jokes. She was still too immersed in tales and songs of handsome knights and honorable suitors to see what was right in front of her.
The littlest Lannister, and by far the best of all of them, Tyrion was wounded in battle and Sansa's handmaiden was beside herself with worry.
The Old Lion, Tywin Lannister, Protector of Lannisport, rode into the Throne Room atop his white stallion and was made Hand of the King.
A small flicker of happiness danced through her when Margery, of House Tyrell, was declared the future wife of the king and queen of Westeros. It was snuffed out when Lynette realized that she and her sister would never be set free. She was broken beyond repair with a heart scarred beyond recognition, with the single promise to keep Sansa safe the only thing that kept her from hurling herself from the parapets of The Keep.
Again, what had started as a punishment Sansa was to endure, ended as a torment that Lynette shrugged onto her own shoulders. It seemed the mad little King wanted a Stark to wed a Lannister, and being the king, he got what he wanted. The Imp was to marry Sansa, by decree of Joffrey Baratheon, who looked like a Lion and not a Stag, King of those who feared him too much to stand up to him and Protector of the hypocritical fools of his Court.
When Sansa came to Lynette's chambers, crying, beaten and bruised, the eldest Stark could do nothing but hold her and stroke her Tully hair while she tried to find a way to dig them out of the hole they found themselves in.
Later that night, after she forced Sansa's handmaiden to take the girl to her own chambers and give her a sleeping draught, Lynette Stark mounted the stairs of the Tower of the Hand.
Her body was aching from the lashes of the switch Ser Meryn used on her and the corset she was forced into made her cracked ribs sing with pain. She ignored it. She had become exceptionally good at ignoring the things that bothered her.
She knew the Lion of House Lannister would not be asleep at the hour of night. His candles burned into the early hours of the morning. The stairs had her winded when she reached the top of the Tower. The Lannister guards in their fancy red and gold armor stood watch over their Lord's chamber.
They menacingly advanced, "What the fuck are you doing here, traitor's daughter?"
Lynette didn't answer them but tiredly rolled her eyes. She bit back a snipping retort and instead settled for a soft, "I am come to see the Hand." She glared at the guard who had spoken to her and couldn't resist to skewer him into place with a harsh look, "Obviously."
She could feel the waves of tension seeping out of all of them. The guard who hadn't spoken held her eyes with his own startling blue ones for a moment before he knocked on the door of the chambers. There was not answer.
Lynette had quickly learned that Tywin Lannister was a deliberate man. He did nothing he didn't have to but did what he had to, thoroughly. She supposed in that respect she admired his cunning mind. However, he was a Lannister. The House of Lions had murdered her father.
She would see them all begging for mercy before her end.
After an uncomfortable silence, she heard a single word resounding clearly from behind the fine wooden door.
"Enter."
It was then that fear began to rise in her throat. Lynette knew that with every step closer to his chambers she was walking closer to the end of her own identity. She was selling herself for her sister. Noble? No.
Stupid.
The door swung open, and the guard that had not spoke jerked his head to motion for her to go inside. She swallowed her trepidation and crossed the threshold of the room. She was momentarily stunned by the grandeur of it. She had been to the Tower of the Hand before, when her father was Hand. That seemed like it was an age ago. She could no longer recall the happy laughs she had shared with him in the safe cocoon of the walls she found herself in.
She dragged her eyes away from the raging fire and turned to face Tywin Lannister where he sat behind a desk of rich wood. He had stopped what he was writing and was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to explain why she dared to disturb him. Lynette stuck her chin in the air defiantly and looked him right in the eyes.
"My Lord Hand."
"Lady Lynette."
His voice betrayed nothing, and his mouth was set in a firm line. He didn't stand up from his chair and she didn't really expect him to. She was in his chambers. He could do to her whatever he wanted to. Lynette came to his rooms with her heart in her hands. She would most likely leave with it dashed against a wall.
"You are marrying my sister to your youngest son."
Lynette marveled at the steadiness in her voice. It didn't betray her nerves, for which she was grateful. She was adept at masking what she was feeling and hiding it from others. She was learning to play the Game that Cersei crooned on about.
The Lannister didn't say anything. He didn't even set his quill down from the parchment he was busy with. He regarded her with contempt in his green eyes. She expected nothing less.
"Tell me, Lord Hand," she started mockingly, flowed gracefully up to his desk and sat down daintily on the wingback chair in front of him. She didn't ask him if she could sit, but she wanted him to be aware of the wolf in her, the fire that his grandson couldn't extinguish. She was her own woman, and she would show him, even if the confident mask she wore was more to reassure herself and not him. She flicked an invisible piece of lint from the armrest of the leather chair, and continued, praying to the Old Gods that her voice remained steady, "what does your precious legacy stand to gain from a union between the youngest Stark and the Lannister Dwarf?"
That made Tywin put his quill down.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
He was amused.
It irked her.
The Hand eloquently folded his hands in front of him and met her gaze squarely and straightened himself in his chair. He was clearly amused as he spoke, "House Lannister serves te king, young Stark."
She smiled tightly and spoke to him in a straight, no-nonsense tone that Ned Stark would have been proud of, "We both know that you rule the Seven Kingdoms even if the crown is not on your head, Lord Lannister."
It was like a game of chess. She would speak and wait for him to respond, studying him. He in turn, studied her. And saw past the pain in her eyes to the determination that lay shining in their grey depths.
Tywin raised an eyebrow at that, "True."
"And do you think it is wise to throw away this chance to possess both South and North?" Lynette pressed. She was playing a dangerous game. Tywin was unyielding, and his eyes and body betrayed nothing that he was thinking, so she continued, "My sister would have to kill me if she wanted to rule the North. And then, if she should succeed, whether my end would be brought about by golden assassins or poison, the people would hate her and never accept her Lannister rule."
"What do you propose, Lady Stark?"
He sounded so nonchalant that it made her want to scream. How dare he demean her like this! She knew he did it to get a rise out of her, but she refused to be belittled and kept her eyes staring into his. Tywin let something slip then, sitting there.
He was tired.
Not simply from the lack of sleep, but from the knowledge that Men don't live forever and that he was getting older. She knew from the history books that his father did nothing but squander and pity. It was evident that he wanted to erase that from the books and instead replace it with something greater.
She smiled, fake, but still stunningly beautiful he realized despite his firm resolution to brush her angelic face aside and instead behold her mind, "I will marry a Lannister."
Tywin looked surprised but quickly reined his expression back into the impassive mask he always wore. There was no warmth in his eyes as he beheld the girl in front of him. Foolish child, he had thought when she entered the room. Now, something akin to respect began to take root in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it but failed.
"Marriage between great houses end wars just as quickly as they start them."
Lynette nodded her agreement, "True. Good thing for us the war has already started, and we can end it then."
For a moment, Lynette feared that the Lion of Lannister would laugh at her offer. There was a twinkle in his green eyes, the golden flecks glimmering, and for a moment, she was afraid of him. But she soon righted herself and swallowed her trepidation when she saw him nod slowly.
"And which Lannister will you marry, Lynette Stark?"
With a smart little shrug, she stood up and said, "I don't care. Whatever pleases you, my lord."
Tywin beheld her strangely. He began to doubt her shrewdness then. If she wanted to save her sister, he would never reap the rewards that she offered him. Love had no place in the Great Game.
Lynette knew he would think her weak. Even though her main objective was to spare Sansa, she knew that he would be easier to convince when he saw her truly stand by her decision. She was in front of his desk now, looking down at him as if he was a clod of dirt on her boot, "It would be wiser to preserve your heir and eldest son for a better prospect, Lord Lannister. I hear the Dornish have a score of princesses to choose from."
With that, she turned around and walked out of the room without so much as a glance his way. He would have called her back if he didn't agree. She knew she had succeeded. But how, how was she going to face this situation she found herself in. How was she going to survive this time? When the door shut behind her, she fled down the steps. Ignoring the pain in her side, she ran all the way to her room and threw herself inside and onto her bed.
What had she done?
Lynette Stark, daughter of Catelyn and Eddard Stark, heir of Winterfell, the She-wolf, had sold herself to a lion to save her sister.
She chose the Dwarf and not the Knight.
Lynette knew she would rather have half a man than a man who fucked his sister and threw her brother from a tower to hide it.
She slept fitfully that night and dreamed of mismatched eyes and golden lions.
Author's Notes:
Thank you for suffering through the first chapter of The Collared Wolf. There are many more to come. Please give this story a chance. Some chapter may be harrowing, but so is A Song of Ice and Fire, and Game of Thrones.