Fifteen-year-old Emmelyne Stark was quiet as she sat in her chambers. She wore a long red gown, and at her throat she wore a leather necklace, set with a gorgeous ruby. Her black hair was tied in an intricate knot, though wisps danced about her face in the steady wind. Her hair, despite it's dark color, glowed silver in the light, and had done so since her three days in the forest with a strange man she had called Vyreo. In her hands she held a jeweled cane, which glittered in the vague moonlight filtering through her window. She smoothed her fingers along the polished bone that peeked out between the gemstones. Her gray eyes glowed in the light of the fire burning in her brazier. The flames leaped ever higher, and she could have sworn she saw the shadows she'd once witnessed, five long years ago. She let herself succumb to sleep, despite the gnawing feeling of dread that began to eat away at her.
In her dreams, there was a man. But this man was sad, and frightened. In place of a his human head, there was the head of a direwolf, snarling and growling. "Em! Please, Em!" a familiar voice cried.

And then a girl, angry and wild, a black pit in place of her face. "Emmelyne!" the girl pleaded.

A boy, riddled with arrows. "Em!"

And a young man, reborn in fire, covered in scars. "Emmelyne, please!"

A girl, crying. "Emmelyne, help me!"

And then a young boy, flying. He said nothing.

There was a woman, her throat slit and blood pouring down her body.

And a man with no head.

The figures horrified her, but there was a familiarity about them. They began to distort, their bodies morphing and shifting, combining into the tall form of a woman. Blond and beautiful, but cold and wicked all the same. "You will never win," her stern voice stated.

Alongside the woman sprouted the forms of three children, as blond as her, but only one held her cold expression. As quickly as they came the three children seemed to be smashed to dust, fading into the blackness. But the blond woman remained. "Stupid child. Everyone knows… when you play the game of thrones, you win… or you die."

Then, a direwolf, brilliant red with glowing eyes charged the woman, shredding her to pieces. It looked at Emmelyne, waiting for a command. Dragons rose from the shadows, breathing fire as they flapped their massive wings. And a woman with white hair…

Emmelyne awoke in a cold sweat. Her fingertips were white, clenched tightly around the jeweled cane. Her ruby necklace had come undone, and now lied on the bed, still faintly glowing. "Seven Hells," Emmelyne murmured.

She couldn't think of anything else to say, try as she might. She did not worship the Seven or the Old Gods that her parents did, but now it seemed a proper time for the statement. She wanted so badly to return to the strange dream world, but she knew that R'hllor would only grant her one peek into the future. Yes, the future.

Emmelyne gazed into the fire, which had slowly begun to die down. When she'd become a Red Priestess, the first thing she had done was burned the old dolls of the Seven that her mother had had made for her. A week later, she had become very sick and nearly died. Her mother kept saying that it was because she had burned the dolls, but Emmelyne fought her tooth-and-nail, ardently saying that it was simply part of the process.

Emmelyne let her grip loosen on the cane, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood. Shaking ever so slightly, she rose from her bed. As she did this, a tapping sounded at the door. Emmelyne went stiff. "Who is it?" her cool voice hissed.

"Your father," Ned's calm voice responded.

She looked to her mirror, trying to make sure she looked presentable. But the face peering at her from the mirror was not her own. It was the face of a beautiful woman, like Emmelyne's but wrong all the same. As quickly as it had come, the face vanished, and now only Emmelyne remained. She let a low gasp escape her before she turned to the door of her chambers. "You may enter," she said.

The door swung open, and the tall, imposing form of her father appeared in the doorway. Emmelyne looked like her father, with the same gray eyes that could bring most men to terror. Ned strongly believed that the girl was simply the reincarnation of his younger sister, Lyanna.

Ned glanced around the room, those cold gray eyes landing on the fire, now burning brightly in the brazier. "Why have you come here?" Emmelyne questioned, bringing him swimming back to reality.

"The king is coming to Winterfell. He's bringing the entire royal family, along with the Lannisters."

Emmelyne thought about the cold blond woman from her dream. "Lannister... dark days come when the Lannisters come this far north. There must be a reason for this... visit," she stated.

Ned sighed, annoyed by, though still used to, his daughter's strange riddles. "Jon Arryn... you remember him, don't you?" He tried to shift the subject.

"Yes, I remember him. Kind, but foolish. I suppose wicked things have come to him," Emmelyne said, a strange smirk playing at her lips. "What fate has befallen the kind fool?"

Ned winced at her cold words. "A fever took him. His family, your aunt and cousin, still have their health, gods be good."

She chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. "There is only one god, Father. And you know his name as well as I do."

Ned nodded stiffly. "Aye, I know the false god you speak of."

He was talking like Catelyn now. The woman hated Emmelyne's religion and everything that came with it. Ned loved his daughter, and the gods knew it well. But he'd woken in the night often to Catelyn praying, pleading with her new gods to 'save' Emmelyne any way they knew how. And Ned knew all too well that one of these ways was death. Ned was sure she'd never admit it, but Catelyn hated Emmelyne almost as much as she hated his bastard, Jon.

"R'hllor would kill you where you stand for speaking of him that way, dear father. He is no false god, simply a misunderstood one. I pray to him that one day you'll learn to worship him the same as me," Emmelyne pointed out.

Ned wanted to argue, but he knew it would lead nowhere. Nothing could ever change Emmelyne's poisoned mind. Perhaps the old man, Vryeo, could have persuaded her, but he was dead. Emmelyne was sure of that, and her word always seemed to be the truth. Instead, Ned just said, "Put out that fire. You're going to burn the castle down."

It was a feeble attempt at a joke; Winterfell was built almost completely out of stone. Emmelyne smiled her false smile, her fingers moving to graze the ruby at her throat. "Fire won't harm us... I won't allow it."

Neither father nor daughter spoke for a moment. Then Emmelyne chuckled. "Well, you best start your preparations for the king's arrival."

Ned nodded. "Yes, I suppose."

He turned on his heel, leaving her room in silence. Almost as soon as he left, the door opened again, but this time it was Emmelyne's elder brother, Robb. He was grinning, and something wriggled around beneath his fur cloak. "What have you found?" Emmelyne questioned, taking a step forward.

"Direwolf pups! Seven of them. I thought... perhaps you might like this one," he said, pulling his furs aside.

The pup leaped free of his grip, hitting the ground with a hard thud. This didn't deter the small beast, who began to sniff around Emmelyne's chambers. The pup was strange, with fur the same color as the ruby around Emmelyne's neck. It's eyes were a brilliant blue, glowing in the moonlight. Emmelyne froze. It was the same direwolf from her dream. It yipped softly, stumbling over it's own paws. Robb still smiled, looking up at Emmelyne hopefully, trying to unearth a true emotion from her. Robb, with his red-brown hair and blue eyes, had their mother's Tully appearance. If it hadn't been for the stern face they had both inherited from their father, no one would have ever assumed Robb and Emmelyne were siblings. "So, Em," Robb said, his smile never failing. "What will you name him?"

Emmelyne didn't know. Only one name came to mind, but she knew her mother would never approve. "R'hllor," she said firmly.

Robb sighed, but he nodded. "R'hllor. I suppose that's as good a name as any."

Emmelyne offered a smile, a true one now. Robb almost remembered the young girl he'd once run with in the godswood, playing at being kings and queens. But that had all changed, and now the two barely knew each other. Robb was unsure of who this girl was standing before him. It was not his sister. It was a demon with the face of a girl he once would have killed for. A girl he would have done anything to protect. Now, she was little more than a stranger. She was cold and wicked. Robb never would tell a soul, but he feared her and her dreams of the future.

Emmelyne's smile faded. She looked at Robb with a sad expression. The ghost of his sister stared at him, almost pleading with him to be saved. He wanted to save her, but she was too far gone. There was no savior for those who worshipped R'hllor.

There was a silence between the siblings, and finally Robb gave an attempt at a smile. "It's dark, you need your rest," he said, turning away from the demon that wore his sister's face.

Emmelyne laughed. "The night is dark and full of terrors, dear brother."