Blue Winter Rose
"Beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time."
-Eddard Stark
Chapter One
Daemon was from north of the Wall, perhaps no older than five. The spirit of a wildling could be seen in his eyes and he was known to lash out at moment's notice, breaking dozens of bones and even killing a man with a single kick. His hide was as dark as night in the Hells and every inch of him was pure muscle; he attacked without discrimination, though men were more common than women in the stables. He only allowed a select few to touch him but those who he did, he trusted with his life and it was only in their presence would he quiet, allowing one to see the gentleness he possessed.
The crisp wind bit at Lyanna's cheeks, burning a scarlet flush across her cheeks but she didn't care. She gave the stallion his head, trusting him to run true though the Wolfswood. Neither knew where they were headed but Daemon flew in the darkness over logs, moist with decay, and thundered through the creek, splashing freezing water to Lyanna's bare legs. Throwing her head back, she laughed and howled to the sky, a sound more animal than human in the full moon's yellow light.
It was well into the blackest part of the night when the two finally returned home, though the morn couldn't have been far off. Both of them were panting heavily and sweating from exertion and the warmth of the barn. Lyanna slipped the cloak lined in ginger-colored fox fur from her shoulders, clad only in her white nightshift and set to groom Daemon. There was need to remove his saddle and bridle for on this night there was none.
"Head," she told him gently, stretching a hand upward to touch the space just behind his ears. Immediately, he lowered his neck so she could comb the tangles out of his mane.
He was about seventeen hands in height. It was far too much of a horse for a noble lady but Lyanna enjoyed nights like this where she could place her hand upon that great neck, the highest point of her head still half a foot below the stallion's withers. Daemon would curl his neck towards his mistress, brown eyes boring into grey, unshod hooves and bare toes pressed to straw while their breath created misty clouds in the lamplight.
Dawn found the stallion standing guard with Lyanna at his feet. He whickered lowly when the barn door swung open and he squared off, head high, and ready to defend his sleeping mistress. Most of the men who entered were familiar—lads no older than she, with black-brown hair and her pale eyes—but the other was new. He was tall and broad in stature, his hair chocolate-colored and eyes as blue as the sea.
Brandon Stark reached and stroked Daemon's face before the horse pulled back, gently turning in his stall to Lyanna and breathed in her scent.
The hot wind in her hair roused the sleeping lady and she stretched softly in the hay, arching with feline grace with her pale legs tangled in her nightdress. At the state of her undress, the men cast their eyes away to allow her modesty.
"How'd we know to find you here?" Eddard asked, grasping her cloak and holding it out to her as she stood.
Lyanna yawned and flipped the fur over her shoulders, rubbing at her eyes.
"Hello, brothers, Lord Baratheon."
The men smiled in return, addressing her with a slight incline of their heads, and Eddard opened the stall door for her.
"To bed with you," he said. "Father will have your head if he catches you sleeping out here again."
"Where are you off to?"
"A hunt," Benjen answered and he hugged his big sister in greeting. "You smell like manure."
Lyanna threw her head back laughing, full of mirth at his jest.
"Oh, thank you. Good morning, to you, too, sweet pup." She ruffled his hair, hanging loose around his shoulders like their older brothers' locks. She secured the buttons at her throat, the earth cold and dry against her feet. "I'll get my things."
"Not this time, you won't," Eddard said.
"And why is that?"
Robert Baratheon spoke up. "Lyanna, the hunt is no place for a lady."
She looked him in the eye, steady and challenging. "Then we're quite lucky no ladies are present, aren't we, Robert?"
Robert barked out his boisterous laughter, slapping Eddard on the shoulder as her brothers eyed her warily; a woman should always refer to noblemen as such, not their names. She didn't care. He shouldn't have addressed her so informally.
"You're right about this one, Ned," he said. "Wolf-blood runs deep through her veins."
Brandon gently placed his hands on his sister's shoulders, steering her away.
"We've important matters to discuss with Robert," he told her. "And Father's coming. But once we return, shall you and I take the horses out for a run?"
Lyanna sighed and nodded in defeat. No matter the luxuries her father allowed her, turning a blind eye when she hunted with her brothers with a quiver strapped to her back and a bow in her hand or raced across the countryside with Brandon like a pair of centaurs galloping into the setting sun, she would forever be a woman and therefore confined to a woman's place. And she would behave.
The maiden returned to her chambers and slept until midday as she often did on nights she decided on a midnight ride. When she awoke, she broke her fast alone and went immediately to the gardens hidden in the far corner of the courtyard. This corner of the wood was hers and hers alone, given to her by her father on her thirteenth name day. Here, the only bloom to be seen were the blue winter roses, growing high on tall walls of green bushes and in tendrils of thorny vines curling delicately around wooden arches and stone benches.
These flowers had always been Lyanna's favorite, as they were for many patrons of Winterfell, but she did not see them as others did. The blossom was lovely, ranging from deep indigos to the lightest shade of off-white. But Lyanna didn't care for such a superficial attribute; the blue winter rose was a hardy plant, the only to reach towards the sky when darkness enveloped it and heavy-laden snow pressed each bloom down under its weight. The lovely rose would still be there when winter ended and spring returned to the land. Winter is coming, those were her family's words, and the blue winter roses knew this better than most; they were always prepared, always ready for anything the Gods might throw at them.
Lord Rickard Stark's feet fell soundly to the ground and his breath was heavy after he returned with his sons and sought out his daughter. He wasn't as young as he used to be, as all four of his children were already grown, and his face faded fast to deep wrinkles set in his skin and a silver lacing thickly through his beard.
He journeyed with Robert and the two found her in the garden seated upon the gnarled roots of an old tree, staring up at the sky with her back pressed to its trunk and a sapphire blue rose in her hand. It was the most divine sight Robert had ever seen: the fair maid as green as the grass growing at her feet with hair the color of ebony and a pink flush from the cold painting her cheek prettily. A little red bird fluttered by and she closed her eyes to feel the warmth of the rare, northern sun on her skin. Her hair curled softly and a lock fell from behind her ear and she tugged is absentmindedly, extending its length so that it stretched to her naval and released it to bounce back up.
She was as lovely as the roses surrounding her, but Rickard knew every rose had its thorns.
"I'll speak with her first," he told Robert, not wanting the girl's unavoidable rage to spoil the alliance. Robert nodded, his eyes still on the girl, trying to memorize everything about this moment—the way the breeze pulled at her hair, the frosty cloud of her breath—and left the man to speak with the girl.
Rickard cleared his throat and Lyanna turned, smiling at once to her father and rising to her feet.
"Welcome home, Father," she said. "I trust you enjoyed yourself?"
Rickard stepped forward to a bench and slowly lowered his weight down, holding a hand out for her to join him.
"I did," he answered. "The morning was very profitable."
"What did you catch? Deer? Bear? Saber-toothed cat?"
Lyanna's lips parted slightly and her eyes were wide, glimmering brightly with excitement. As much as he loved her, this silly delight needed to come to an end.
"There are no saber-toothed cats south of the Wall, Lyanna."
She smiled. "I know. But imagine if there were! If anyone could catch them, it'd be you."
Rickard grunted something under his breath. Before Lyanna could ask what he had said, he spoke again.
"The Baratheon lad asked me for your hand," Rickard said.
Lyanna let out a laugh. "The poor dear! I hope he took the news well."
He had spoiled the girl and allowed her too much independence in her youth, this he knew. There was no easy way to tell this to his spirited daughter of the engagement but like any young filly, the time had come for her to be saddled and well broken.
"He did, indeed. He's now your betrothed and will be courting you until you until your next name day. Then, he'll marry you."
She repeated his words in her mind slowly, trying to understand if she had heard him correctly.
"But… What?"
"After you've turned six and ten—" Lord Rickard clarified, "—you're to marry the Baratheon."
She was silent.
"Father, I… won't. You can't make me."
"I can and I will." He stood up but Lyanna joined him.
"But what about love?" she pressed stubbornly. "I don't love him."
"Love is for children, Lyanna. At least the kind you're thinking of. You'll grow to love him."
The wolf maid took a step away. This was all so terribly wrong.
"And if I wished to be married to the Gods?"
"The Gods aren't as rich as Robert, nor do they possess enough political support to serve as a bannerman. Lyanna, you're nearly five and ten—its time you've grown up and… Lyanna, come back here!"
But she would not. She dashed away, racing back through the keep and up flights of stairs until she found her chamber. The slamming of her bedroom door rang through the castle and echoed down long corridors. Lyanna paced anxiously, she sat on her bed, and rose again to the window. Angry tears burned her eyes and threatened to spill over but she wouldn't allow them. She screamed and it helped, and so she howled and tossed bottled perfumes and oils to the walls, tearing fine dresses to shreds until her throat was hoarse and exhaustion overtook her upon the shag of bear fur beside her bed.
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Dear Reader,
Hello. This is my first time writing anything, ever. Is it good? Bad? Please be kind, but I'd really like to know what you think.
I haven't read the books-I'm waitlisted at my library-but I have read some spoilers online and watch the show religiously. Hopefully its enough to make some parallels.
If you'd like to see some visuals for what I have in my head, they'll be on my page and updated as new elements are introduced.
Thank you for your time.
Blessings and Love to you and yours.
-ApheliaDecays