Winterfell
Lysara Stark
Lysara had not meant to cause any upset. The lovely kennel dog that she had named Ember had passed giving birth to her pups, she had simply leant over and kissed the dog's head, making a promise to protect the pups when suddenly the dog's eyes shot open and she began to howl. Lysara had screamed, unsure of what to do but before anyone could find or say anything to her or before the once kind dog could attack her, she ran off into the wintry woods out of fear. Her mind was racing as she let out small whimpers, covering her cold bare arms with her hands and rubbed them desperately for warmth. All she could think of was what would happen to her.
What if they kill me for being a witch?
What if they think I'm cursed?
I don't want to die, Lysara thought fearfully as her bottom lip trembled. The North had turned deathly cold at night, the wind was icy and felt as if she was being stabbed by thousands of sewing needles. The winds blew harshly, blowing her hair into her face and the frozen grass felt like glass below her feet. The freezing air made her shiver harshly as she stumbled through the woods. Lysara had ran and ran until her lungs burned from the lack of air and she could barely see, her eyes kept fluttering shut. She no longer could feel the tips of her fingers nor her lips. She felt cold...so cold. Lysara wanted desperately to sleep but she knew terrifyingly that if she was to rest, even for a moment, she would not wake again.
Lysara stumbled towards a large tree nearby and slid to the ground. She wanted her father. She wanted her mother. She wanted Jon. She wanted Robb. She wanted someone to find her. Lysara knew that she was lost and would not make it through the night and the mere thought caused her to pull her knees to her chest and wept softly into them. I don't want to die, Lysara thought once more as tears slid down her face. I don't want to-
"O' my Lord of Light, lead us from your darkness and cast your light upon us." A male voice sounded out, causing her to lift her head from her knees and she slowly stood once more, in a desperate search for the voice through the darkness. Lysara strained her ears and followed the voice, "Fill our hearts with fire, so that we may walk in your shining path. R'hllor who gave us breath, I thank you. R'hllor who gave us day and takes the terrors of darkness away, I thank you. Lord of Light protect us."
Lysara must have followed the voice for hours until she encountered a man singing softly in a language unknown to her but it was pleasant nonetheless around a large fire, that he prodded occasionally with a large stick. She let out a small gasp and hid behind a nearby tree, every so often peeking her head out to look at him in wonder. The man was dressed in strange garments and she knew then he wasn't a Northerner. He wore a red tunic, red trousers with a large red cloak wrapped around his shoulders. She took in his balding head and elderly face as he sang. Suddenly, he stopped and the fire dimmed slightly when he spoke once more.
"The Lord of Light has chosen you, my child-" The man begins softly, his voice barely heard. "You are one of his chosen, Lysara Stark. To help carry on his work when I can no longer."
Her eyes widen when the man looks over his shoulder at her, his brown eyes land on her causing her own grey eyes to widen in both shock and horror. H-He knows my name? Her heart leapt into her throat and she slowly emerged from the treeline and into the clearing, staring on at the man with curiosity. Lysara took another step closer, although she was wary of the man, she could feel the fire and wanted to grow closer to it and seek its warmth.
"H-How do you know my name, ser?" Lysara asked softly.
"The Lord of Light has chosen you, she-wolf." The man said, urging her closer. "You must not be afraid of your fate."
"T-The...The Lord of Light?" She repeated, feeling the warmth on her skin from the fire as she edges closer. "I don't believe in the Gods."
"You must believe-" The man whispered, as she took a seat on the log nearby. He paused from speaking, unclasping the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. His hand caught her shoulder by accident and she gasped at the heat from the man. He was warmer than the fire. She pulled the cloak to her body and stared at him with wide eyes, "The Lord of Light saw fit to fill you with his fire. His light. His love. Do not fret, my Lady. No harm will come. I am certain your father will arrive soon. I wanted to meet you, just the once before my passing. I wanted to convince one more person of our Lord before my fire is extinguished and I am glad that I have found you. I am afraid I cannot teach you all that you need to know, you will suffer with it...but soon, soon you will climb higher than all the rest. A wolf of winter."
"You said that I'm going to suffer-" Lysara said frightfully, looking on him warily. "I do not want to suffer."
"We all suffer, Lysara Stark. We all must choose a path to take in the hell we live in now." The man responded, his voice barely above a whisper.
"A-And...and what paths are they?" She asks.
"We choose light-" The man begins, as the fire roars with life once more before it dims. "Or we choose darkness."
Lysara watched his every movement as he talked about the Red Temple of Volantis, he told her if the time ever comes, she must go to that temple. The man reached down to the log and looked at her with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression, "Have you ever heard worshipper's of R'hllor sing?"
"We don't get red people around these parts." She offered, as he brought out a lute and held it in his hands. "But...But that doesn't mean I don't want to hear it."
As the soft music echoed in her ears and gradually built up as he began to play, she suddenly found herself drawn to the fire and became transfixed by it. It pulled her into a trance as the music was brought to her with the wind. It was strange...she no longer felt cold. She felt at peace. Lysara stared deep into the heart of the fire and let out a gasp when a person appeared in the flames, it was a shadow but it was there and she could see it. Lysara felt her eyes grow heavy at the entrancing music and the dancing flames, that forever transformed and changed. She tried her best to stay awake but no matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, the final blink of her eyes made her world go dark.
Lysara stirred to the sounds of birds echoing in her ears, she squirmed slightly on the ground and opened her eyes slowly only to be greeted with the woods. The snow had settled and the winds had died down. It was no longer night nor was it day time just yet, the sun had just started to appear in the sky and birds began to wake up from their sleep. She slowly sat up and saw that she was still wrapped in the red cloak and looked around the dense woods for the mysterious man from last night. He was nowhere to be found. The seven year old girl's face began to settle into a frown as she took to standing and made her way towards the fire that had long since burnt out, smoke still rose from the blackened ground. Her eyes widened when something glistening caught her eyes but before she reached for it, a hoarse voice called out-
"Lysara!"
Father, Lysara thought before quickly bending down and picking up the glistening jewel from the ground. It hadn't melted or burned. Instead, the small, tear dropped shape ruby glowed dimly in her hold. She felt the familiar warmth she felt last night as she held it tightly in her hands. Lysara let the cloak fall slowly from her shoulders and looked over her shoulder when she heard the approaching footsteps.
"Lysara!"
"F-Father!" Lysara cried, running for his voice with the ruby clutched tightly in her hold. "Father!"
Lysara stepped into a clearing and saw several men upon their horses but her father was on foot. His face was worn, worried, fearful and tired. His hardened eyes immediately lit up as she picked up her pace and ran for him, screaming for him. He shouted at her as she opened her arms wide for him, he bent down low and hoisted her up into his arms. Tears fell down her tear stained face and she buried her head into his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He pried her away from his neck and looked at her.
"By the Gods!" Her father said, his voice sounding like thunder. "Why did you run off? We have been so worried, Lysara! You could've have died!"
"I-I'm sorry...I..." Lysara stilled, her face growing blank as she remembered what people might think of her if she told them the true. "I just wanted to explore the woods at night."
"Never again." He said firmly, looking at her with a cold stare but it softened as he wrapped her into another warm embrace.
"Your daughter's a bloody wolf, alright." Ser Rodrick said, dismounting from his horse and walked towards them. "How did you survive?"
"...Light." Lysara said calmly, looking to the ruby in her hands. "Light saved me."
Winterfell
8 Years Later
Eddard Stark
"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Lord Eddard Stark questioned.
His lips twitching into a small smile as he looked down at his two sons, Robb and Jon, who were attempting to teach his younger son, Bran how to shoot. Although the lessons were entertaining for him and the entirety of the yard to watch, for Bran, the lessons were not going as well for him. Robb and Jon shared amused glances as Bran took a shaky aim once more and fired. He looked over to the target and found no arrow in sight, instead, it had pierced a nearby sack, allowing its contents to spill out.
"Imagine yourself as a three-eyed raven, Brandon." An airy voice spoke. "Only then will R'hllor shine his guidance upon you."
Everyone turned to figure that was strolling towards Robb, Jon and Bran slowly. Or in his case he and his Lady wife, Catelyn looked down to see their eldest daughter, dressed head to foot in her red garb, walking towards Bran. Ned watched with a raised brow as she bent down and whispered words unknown to him in Bran's ear. His eldest daughter was always a sight to behold; her long, dark hair pulled up into a knot, with a strand, here and there, curling out from the knot. Her grey eyes that held mystery were focused completely on his young son.
Ned looked down, smiling softly, although, at this moment in time, it was a sad smile he wore on his face. He was reminded of the time his sister, Lyanna was talking to their brother, Benjen. Lysara was a spitting image of his sister, it even made it difficult for him to even look upon her at times. Though, Lyanna and Lysara were different despite sharing the same looks. He could compare them to the sun and the moon. His daughter was like a fire amongst winter, as her crimson dress brushed against the grey ground while his sister was a blue winter rose. She looks as Lyanna once did at the age of one and five.
They may look alike, but that is where it ended. Their personalities differed. His dear sister was wild as his youngest daughter, Arya but still held the gentle soul that his second eldest daughter, Sansa possesses. Lysara was anything but, she was distant and cold as the Northern winds, always speaking in rhymes and riddles that brought a chill to him. Nevertheless, she was strong and fierce as any she-wolf of Winterfell. Ned could feel the hackles of his wife rise steadily, as he caught her watching their daughter with a heavy and concerned frown.
He once knew a girl that had the entire world at her fingertips, he remembered the little girl that would climb the entire castle and would wander the woods. Except on her seventh nameday, she had wandered too far from them. Lysara was missing for a day and night. Ned recalled that night, it was a long and cold night when they searched for her. The winter winds felt like he was getting slapped, the icy rain felt like needles being pressed into his skin and the snow made his boots turn wet and his toes grow cold and blue.
He had thought her dead, if it wasn't for the burning fire he and his men had come across, she would most likely be dead. though the fire was the reason he had found her and the fire was the reason he had lost her. They had come across Lysara, holding onto a burning ruby next to a roaring fire wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, claiming that 'the Lord of Light' had saved her. Ned asked her how she came to this conclusion but all she spoke was riddles.
I almost lost her like I did Lyanna. Like I did my father and my brother.
Catelyn made it clear at every turn that she disapproved of their daughter's chosen religion, she claimed that it was the religion of demons and that no good would come of it. His own face set into a frown as he recalled what the small and suspicious folk of Wintertown had hailed her as. The Demon of the North. Ned felt saddened for his daughter in a way, knowing that it would most likely be a lonely existence if she chose to lead this life, as the past three potential suitors, she had scared them off, voicing their unfortunate futures and speaking of prophecies.
Lysara claimed she had sworn herself off, that she would not marry despite Catelyn pressing him on the matter. His auburn haired wife has fought him on the matter but he had the final say, and Lord Eddard Stark was in no hurry to marry his daughter off, though he prayed to the Gods for her. As her father, he did not want her to be lonely, he did not want her to lead such a life and prayed for a man suited to her, someone that could understand her. Though there was very little men who could, even himself.
"How can he hit the target with such little faith?" Lysara asked smoothly, raising an arched eyebrow. All Jon did was drag his eyes, a small chuckle escaping his lips as Robb's brows furrowed into a scowl. "Do not give up, Brandon. If you give up now, you will never achieve any sort of greatness that will come to you, little pup."
Eddard merely shook his head, as this was nothing new. She always preached and practiced her faith, although he knew her dedication was certainly a good thing, her religion was not. It was a rarity to come across anyone in the North who worshipped the Lord of Light, which made her less approachable than he would like for his daughter. Even with her siblings, she was rather detached. Lysara was cold as the winter that she hailed from. And at times, that frightened him, the way she would rather sup by herself in her chambers rather than in the hall with her family. Though, he did not doubt that she possessed something, of what, he did not know but what he did know was that everyone should be wary of it.
"Sara!" His youngest child, Rickon exclaimed, diving down from the fence and threw himself at her legs. Her impassive exterior lightened slightly, as she reached down and hoisted him up into her arms.
"Hello, my wild pup," Lysara said, her voice remaining soft and cool, although it sounded happier to him. "Let us leave the boys to their tragic embarrassment."
Though is it not the youngest they love the most? Eddard remarked to himself, as Lysara held Rickon to her chest and began to walk away, but as he pondered on what she meant by their 'tragic embarrassment', an arrow shot past Lysara and embedded itself into the target with a large thud. He looked on with wide grey eyes, his head snapping downwards towards the shadows before he began to chuckle, as he spots Arya bowing mockingly towards the three boys. I guess she was right, after all, no boy wants to be bested by a girl. A sister, no less. Ned saw Bran's face redden immensely, causing Arya to run for Lysara as Bran gave chase to her.
The three youngest children made their way out of the courtyard with Lysara, leaving Robb and Jon to collect all the stray arrows. Ned merely shook his head in amusement at his children's antics, they disappeared into the distance, running in circles around Lysara, laughing and jesting like children should. He immediately turned to face Catelyn with a small smile on his face but his smile faded, as his wife's blue eyes narrowed when she saw him turn to face her.
"I do wish you wouldn't encourage them." Catelyn sighed, bristling slightly. "I understand that she is not comfortable worshipping the Seven but she used to worship your Gods. Has she ever tried to worship the Old Gods? No. I thought you and Lysara came to some for of an understanding that she would at least try your religion before she converted to...to that."
"Lysara knows her own mind." Eddard sighed, trying to appease her but she merely shook her head firmly. Stubborn woman.
"Regardless, she has been Northern gossip for years. And gossip spreads, soon the entirety of Westeros will think of her a demon. Lysara honestly believes in this supposed Lord of Light. It is not good for her to embrace such a religion, nothing good has ever come from that religion." Catelyn breathed, visibly shuddering at the thought. "That night when the Gods returned Lysara to us, she was no longer the child I had raised. Ever since she began to practice that religion, our daughter has been taking the milk of the poppy ever since to ease her into sleep as she wakes every night screaming. I have heard her talk with Maester Luwin, she considers herself to be a Red Priestess!"
"What has she done?" Ned asked finally, after a long period of silence between them. "What has Lysara done to make you hate her so?"
"Hate her?" His wife repeated slowly. To say that she was angry would be an understatement, she was livid, as her face went paler with rage. "You think I hate my own daughter? My first born daughter. My own flesh and blood?"
"Cat-" Ned began, sighing heavily as he went to take her hand but she quickly and fiercely snatched it away. "I do not understand your problem, it is nothing but a religion. She is no demon nor should we care about the gossip that spread. Albeit I am not entirely happy with her choice but we cannot simply force her to take on a different religion simply to appease us. I...I understand your hatred for Jon, I do, but Lysara is our daughter. I do not understand the problem you have with her."
"Ned, Lysara is just that, our daughter," Catelyn says while she sucks in a sharp breath and looks to him. "You and I both know that no house from the North or the Riverlands would ever accept her as a wife for their son. Nor would they accept any children that she may bare as heirs because of that religion. I have looked into it, the Red Priests and Priestesses never marry. They wander the world. They prepare for a battle against the Other. Do you really want such a bitter, lonely life for our daughter? Such a dangerous one? And what of our other children, she has frightened all of them at some point, even your bastard with her supposed prophecies!"
"Catelyn-" He began but she shook her head, interrupting him once more.
"There are so many good matches we could make for Lysara. Her cousin, Robin for example. Or Jory Cassel. Even a Forrester. I truly believe she could take on the role of the Lady of the Vale, she is peaceful in that way, as is the Vale of Arryn. My sister Lysa said she would happily accept her. I don't want Lysara wasting the life she has been gifted with by following a dying religion, Ned." Catelyn breathes. "Lysara cannot live off of dreams that will never come true. As they are just that, dreams. Nothing more, nothing less."
Before Ned could retort and object to such matches, the sound of a gruff throat clearing drew his attention away from his wife to the man behind him. Ser Rodrick Cassel stood there, standing stiffly, no doubt feeling misplaced for having interrupted a personal moment between his wife and himself talking about their daughter. Eddard wondered briefly if he heard Catelyn talk about his son being a potential match.
"Forgive me, my Lord and Lady. There is an urgent matter which requires your attention Lord Stark." Ser Rodrick said curtly, his eyes remaining on him. A look he knew all too well. "A deserter from the Wall."
"I see," Eddard replied with a firm nod of his head. "I will be with you in a moment, Ser Rodrick. Have the horses prepared."
"Yes, my Lord." Ser Rodrick nodded, before turning with a swish of his heavily furred cloak and walked back into the castle.
"We-" Ned began, before he made the move to follow him. "Shall discuss this more when I return."
Lysara Stark
Lysara strolled through the thick forestry, having abandoned her younger siblings long ago as she needs peace to make sense of her dreams, as she always found herself doing. She did not know what disturbed her more, the dreams of a man adorned with a wolf's head or her dreams of ice and fire consuming her. Either way, she knew that the dreams she was given were foretelling a good future for both her and Westeros. Lysara had once choice, like any other in this hell that they live in. It did not matter if they were young or old, wise or foolish, from a bastard born to a high Lord, every choice they make will seal their fates.
We choose light or we chose darkness, Lysara thinks to herself, repeating the words the man she encountered long ago once told her.
Lysara stilled in the middle of a clearing and placed her hand on a nearby tree, she let her grey eyes flutter close and let herself feel the nature around her. The sounds of birds, the feel of the damp bark against her palm and the smell of the damp ground after the rain. Although she felt peace in the woods, this time, she couldn't help but feel unsettled. Lysara felt sorry for her younger brother Brandon, who would come to witness his first death of the many deaths he would face and she was unable to keep the tears from rising in her eyes.
Lysara was brought out of her thoughts when she heard a loud whine and raised an eyebrow, reopening her eyes and let go of the tree, making her way further into the woods. Lysara dwelled further and further into the darkening woods until she came across a small stream. Though the sight made her lips part, as she entered the clearing and picked up her heavy and warm red skirts and approached the amazing sight in front of her.
"By the light of R'hllor." Lysara breathed, her face falling into one of awe as she stared on at the panting creature. A direwolf.
It was no ordinary wolf but rather, a direwolf, Lysara never thought she would live to see the day she would see the animal that her house's banners bore. The direwolf was the living embodiment of House Stark's sigil. Lysara found herself inspecting the creature of beauty, with fascination and awe as the direwolf lay a few strides away from where she stood. She frowned, wondering why it would be so far from the Wall when she noticed that its belly was large, round and contracting every moment or so. By R'hllor's will. The direwolf was pregnant and in labour.
Lysara edged closer to the direwolf but took a careful step back when the great she-wolf lifted her great head and snarled threateningly towards her, gnashing her sharpened teeth together. Their eyes met and held a stare, but when the she-wolf saw that Lysara would not take a step closer, the direwolf lay her head back down and continued to pant, whining in pain as she did so. She extended her arm and hand out slowly to the grey pelted direwolf and neared the pregnant she-wolf with wariness.
"Hush now, my sweet." Lysara murmured. "I will not hurt you...I want to help you."
The grey direwolf didn't raise her head, so Lysara took this as her opportunity to near her, she brushed her red skirts down and knelt beside the direwolf. The direwolf threw its head back and howled lowly but Lysara merely hushed it, caressing the she-wolf's fur soothingly. The shaking direwolf stills under her touch before their eyes meet once more, they remain silent for a few moments, the only sound heard was their breathing before the direwolf rests her head on the ground once more.
"It shall be alright." She whispered, a small smile appearing on her face. "You are beautiful..."
If she was not already mad, she would have lost her sanity then as the direwolf lifted its head and gifted her a small nod. Lysara tried to reason it but in the end, she could not. The she-wolf's pants became harsher and she began to both push and pull, which made Lysara gathered herself, unclasping her cloak and lifted it from her shoulders as she readied herself into a position where she could help from. This was not new territory for her, as she had seen all the births of her sibling, be it by a dream or by witnessing it first hand. Lysara closed her eyes, reaching up to clasp her ruby necklace that glowed dimly and braced herself for what was to come.
It was not pleasant, the hour was gruelling and gruesome but she somehow found herself in awe of it all and embraced this. Lysara stared at the six pups stained red that lay, wriggling on the forest ground, seeking warmth from the cold air. Lysara gently cradled them, picking them up by the scruff of their neck and wrapped them in her fur coat. She knelt closer to the direwolf, to present the she-wolf with her new children but saw that the she-wolf's eyes were closed and it lay deathly still, its chest no longer rising and falling. Lysara held the precious bundle close to her warm chest and slowly turned when she heard the frantic voices and footsteps approaching.
"By the Gods!" Her father, Lord Eddard Stark breathed, looking on at the bloody sight in front of him with wariness.
"Six pups," Lysara said lowly, her voice carried with the winds as she held the pups in her blood-covered arms, despite the looks of horror given to her. "This was destined."
Author's Note: Hi! Hopefully you like the first few chapters of 'Of Wolves and Winter'. Let me know what you think and if you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll happily answer them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones (or A Song of Ice and Fire), it belongs to the character killing, genious of a man, George R.R Martin! I don't profit from this story except for the enjoyment of writing it! I don't own any of the character's except for Lysara Stark.
