A/N: This is my first and likely only fanfiction for GoT! The idea was given to me by the amazing LadyBritish, and it's been so much fun to write and a mentally unstable character is something I have wanted to write about for a very long time! All respect to GRRM, I feel evil for posting this when we all know he hates fanfiction, but...there ya' go. This is based on the show, to make me feel less terrible. :p

Sorry for any mistakes, I had a lot of trouble uploading this! I hope I have presented mental illness in a realistic manner, I don't want to be offensive - it's very important to me that I give a fair insight into what some mental illness can be like.

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I do not own any of the characters other than my OC, and all plots that you recognise are not mine, but are the genius of GRRM, the various writers of the show and HBO. :)

Chapter 1

The Beheading

"What do you suppose it feels like to have your head chopped off?" Tamsyn inquired, her bright green eyes focused intently on her half-brother Jon's stern expression; he was very severe for a boy of only 17. One would think that he was full Stark. He regarded his younger sister with both amusement and apprehension, for he knew his sister's keen interest in all things macabre, and she was likely to demand to attend. He also knew that she wasn't interested in it for purposes of rebellion, as it was not something girls were supposed to take interest in, but for a whole other reason which he had yet to fully comprehend. She just seemed to find such things morbidly fascinating, although she didn't seem aware of the morbidity. It unnerved many, but Jon knew that the curious girl before him had a good heart, although a troubled mind and...confused intentions.

"Bloody painful, I'd imagine," Theon Greyjoy sneered arrogantly in response, a smirk tugging at his lips as he shook his head at the eldest Stark girl. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I wasn't asking you," Tamsyn retorted bitterly, her sparkling green eyes narrowing at the slightly unkempt brown haired man with his arms crossed over his chest. She held in her smirk when his own faltered slightly as her eyes bored into his. Although she sometimes didn't understand the intricacies of the people around her, she had linked the glint in Theon's eyes to fear, and she knew that for some odd reason many people had that same look when she set her eyes on them. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Jon noticed the silent exchange of the pair and a slight smile spread across his features at his little sister's antics. "I don't think you'd feel much, Tamsyn," he answered her, his smile growing when her eyes returned to his and softened to a light green. Her eyes were beautiful: stunning and expressive; when calm, they were the colour of freshly blooming leaves; but they often darkened as though a shadow had fallen across them, as she was often angry. Sometimes it was as though her anger had erupted from nowhere, her whole demeanour suddenly changing, and the Starks had had to almost hide her away from people. Her unpredictable temperament made it difficult to predict when she would become volatile, and too many accidents even when Tamsyn was young had lead to her being kept at a distance. However, they knew it was unfair to seclude her wholly, so she was allowed to be outside whilst others were around when accompanied by trusted men or family. "It is very quick."

"Unless you make a mess of it," Theon added with a brash chuckle, seeming to have recovered from his earlier uneasiness, "then you'd just have to keep hacking away at their neck like it was a log of wood!" Jon didn't find that idea humorous in the slightest, but Tamsyn giggled at it despite her known dislike of the Greyjoy who served as their father's ward. It seemed that Theon was perhaps the only person who shared Tamsyn's twisted sense of humour, but that did little to help their relationship. Both regarded each other with contempt, although Jon knew that Theon found the petite girl to be unsettling – that was something the self-assured man would never admit to.

"Why is it that Bran is to witness the deserter's beheading, but I cannot?" Tamsyn asked with a petulant look in her eyes. Jon knew that she was aware of the answer, but she would never accept it and therefore always questioned it.

"It is not a sight for a lady's eyes," he told her solemnly, knowing how much it bothered the girl. In truth, he disliked how different boys and girls were treated, knowing how much his little sisters Tamsyn and Arya enjoyed the lifestyle reserved for boys, and detested that of girls. Well, Arya hated it, but Jon often wondered if Tamsyn's problem with it was merely that she had no patience for the life of a lady rather than an actual dislike of what was expected of her.

"But I am not a lady, I am a girl," she whined in frustration, "besides, why can't ladies see those things?" Tamsyn kicked at the stable house they were gathered by violently, hissing slightly in anger rather than pain as she did. Jon put a steady hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her, but when her eyes fell on him they were burning and clouded and he knew that she was already too angry to reassure. His elder brother Robb had always been far better at calming Tamsyn than he, and it was one of the many qualities he admired about him. For now, Jon could only hope that this would be a momentary rage, as it sometimes was. "I could stomach it more than Bran, he is just a child!" She spat venomously, her voice rising rapidly.

"I don't think anyone doubts that you could stomach it," Theon muttered as he observed one of Tamsyn's famous outbursts, wondering at how long it would last. He didn't deny to himself that he was wary of the girl, but he also found her to be quite interesting. Infuriatingly annoying and a health risk, but interesting. And he couldn't deny that she was a fine thing to look at; had she not been so strange, she would make a good conquest. Perhaps she would grow out of it? He had never felt any form of familial bond to the raving mad Stark, so it wouldn't be strange like it would with Sansa or Arya, if they were of age. If not, there were plenty of other pretty girls who would be more than happy to entertain him. After all, he was a handsome devil and had several physical assets that he had never had any intention to be humble about.

"So why can I not go with you?" She yelled vehemently, spinning on her heels and staring straight at the cocky man looking down at her with a startled expression at her sudden movement.

"It isn't up to any of us," Jon quickly spoke, looking to distract his sister from Theon. He may not particularly like the man, but he knew that his sister's anger often lead her to violence, and the people she disliked were at a much higher risk. She may only have been a slight girl, but she was feral when her mood darkened and could do a surprising amount of damage – she did not fight the way noble men are trained to fight, she fought with a need for destruction. Skill was not needed in her case. Luck was with him as his father approached with Robb and Bran a few paces behind him, and Tamsyn's posture suddenly relaxed when she spotted Robb, although her eyes still shone with resentment at her exclusion.

"Are you ready, Jon, Theon?" Ned Stark asked as he came to a halt in front of his children and ward, his melancholy expression not necessarily a sign of actual sadness.

"Yes, my lord," Jon nodded respectfully, as did Theon, while Tamsyn glared at no one in particular.

"Tamsyn," she quickly looked to her father, constantly yearning for his respect; perhaps if she was a dutiful daughter, she would no longer be kept away? Perhaps she could attend the beheading and any future ones? "Is something troubling you, sweetling?" Eddard smiled at his eldest daughter softly, hoping to reassure the girl. Although she had caused much trouble over the years, Ned loved his daughter and hated to see her so glum.

"I wish to attend the beheading of the deserter," she assumed an authoritative tone and held her head high, hoping that this would be impressive enough to fulfil her wishes. She twitched in anger when she heard Theon snicker, but knew that composure was key. Robb had told her that it was important to remain calm, and Theon had added "especially when you want something".

"I am afraid that cannot happen, child," Ned sighed remorsefully, hating to disappoint his daughter; he experienced much of the same with Arya, but without the worry of an aggressive reaction.

"But Bran is going," she sneered, shooting her little brother a scowl before looking back to her father, "and he is useless, he always will be!" Robb rested his hand on the small boy's shoulder when he noticed his trembling lip; Bran was a sensitive child, and he often suffered the brunt of Tamsyn's verbal abuse. It wasn't that Tamsyn truly thought such horrible things of her little brother, but she lost control during her anger and much of what she said was hurtful and cruel. "He can't even hit a target with an arrow, he won't be able to watch a beheading! I could hit something, I could watch a beheading!" She insisted, clenching her fists in an attempt to restrain herself. They all knew that it was untrue that she could hit something, for she had no skill with a bow at all, it took far too much concentration. She fared better with her bare hands, or small daggers, as her ferocity meant that she was more than capable of wounding someone significantly in close range purely because of the intensity of her attack.

"I'm sorry, Tamsyn, but I will hear no more of this. Find your sisters and Septa Mordane, you should be practising your stitching at present." After stroking her hair affectionately, he beckoned his sons, ward and a few men away to saddle their horses, leaving Tamsyn alone and seething.

Why does Bran get to go? Stupid, useless, childish Bran! Worthless, and useless, and he only is allowed to because he is a boy! Otherwise he would be cast away, and I would be able to go. Why can't I go? It is so unfair! I bet it isn't because I'm a girl, it's because they don't think I'm a Stark. I'm not a Stark. They keep me away from people, away from Rickon – even Jon isn't treated in such a way, and mother hates him! She hates him, that means she must detest me! They all must! That's why I am not allowed to go! They don't want me to be happy, they don't want to be with me! They want me to be alone! They probably want me to be dead! What if they do? How could they! They don't want me! I don't need them to want me!

She had no desire to practise stitching, she needed to hit something; she was overwhelmed by indignation and she felt giddy with it, her arms straining to lash out. Not knowing how to quench the uncomfortable feeling, her breathing turned ragged in anguish and she started to hyperventilate. Small grunts turned into yelps which turned into screams as she tried to calm herself, but the torment would not end. Her body was rigid and yet burning, and her head was in overdrive when a nearby guard rushed over to her after hearing her screams. The instant she detected him, she sprung. She threw herself at the guard, her hands poised like claws as she dragged her nails down his unguarded face, his vocalisation of pain only serving to spur her on. His heavy armour prevented her from being able to attack his sides, so she focused on attacking his face with an increased fervour, balling her hands into fists and smacking them against his face mercilessly while he screamed for assistance. He tried to grab her petite frame and yank her from him, but he was aware that he could not hurt the girl, and so hoped that more men would be able to help him safely remove her. Her incessant screams rang through his ears, while his faded into the roar within her head as she continued her vicious outburst. She couldn't stop, all the things in her head were mounting and swirling together into a storm of anger and insecurity and fear, and she desperately wanted it to end. How did she make it end? What did she have to do? The man's screams hurt her head, making it harder for her to silence her mind, and she smashed at the man's face in protest. She hollerred in outrage when she felt several pairs of hands tearing her away from the man she had latched onto, her arms flailing around wildly like claws as she was dragged away from the man, who sagged to the dirt and clutched at his face as he sobbed. It was horrible, the sound of distress, and it cut through Tamsyn, a sickly thin pain running deep into her and making her feel nauseous. The men pushed her down onto the ground and each restrained an arm or a leg and she struggled to break free, but her lack of control soon led her screams to become whimpers of defeat. They were stopping her, she couldn't make it go away if they stopped her! When Lady Stark appeared above her looking flustered, her body became limp as she was overcome with a sudden exhaustion. Cautiously, the men started to withdraw from her and stand up, moving back slightly so that Catelyn could reach out to her daughter, though they kept a watchful eye.

"Can you hear me, my sweet?" Catelyn spoke in a soothing tone as she gripped her daughter's hand, damp with blood. "Take my hand, we'll get you washed up and you can sit with me by the fire." Tamsyn's panting had dissipated, and she was now silent, her eyes distant and her body almost weightless as she allowed her mother to help her up and guide her away, instructing the men to see that the injured man was taken to the maester.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please review, follow and favourite if you wish to, support is always lovely! Constructive criticism is...constructive, so don't be shy, but please be kind - this is my first attempt at GoT. :)