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Chapter Two – Heir to Winterfell

The first thing Myra heard as she regained consciousness was the sound of a crackling fire. She felt her fear rear up inside her again. Was she still in the woods? At home?

All at once it was as though her senses rushed back to her. She did not smell anything burning abnormally. She did not feel a hard dirt ground beneath her, nor did she feel the cold of the woods surrounding her. She felt warm in a soft cotton chemise, she felt clean, she felt relatively comfortable and she daresay she felt safe. With each passing moment she became more aware of how her body was placed. Myra was almost certain she was on a bed. There was a dull nearly painful pressure pressed into the back of her head. She felt the familiar weight of a wolf's head resting against her left thigh. She felt the fingers of her left hand twitch on top what felt like bedspread, covered with furs, she knew such to be typical of Northern craftsmanship.

As she stretched her left arm down to reach her wolf's head, Myra just as slowly blinked open her eyelids. At first her vision was as blurry as she remembered her sight being when she had last closed her eyes. She wanted to lift her head but found it felt far heavier than she recalled it having been before. She groaned slightly. Her fingers feathered against the wolf head lying on her leg. It felt rougher than Silver's fur coat, this was enough to startle Myra into fully raising her head. The direwolf looking back at her was not her violet-eyed Silver, rather a larger yellow-eyed smoky grey direwolf.

The initial fear Myra had felt upon waking ran through her again as she tried to catch her bearings in this shadowy stone room. To her left there was a closed window. She could see that there was no light filtering through the spaces outlining the shutters, so she assumed that it was night. But where was Silver? What wolf was this? Why was it on the bed with her?

"Odd isn't it?"

Myra head snapped to her right where the fire she had heard only moments ago was burning steadily near the foot of the bed. She resisted the urge to groan in pain again. The voice had come from a man with grey eyes and mop of curly dark hair, who did not look to Myra to be much older than she was herself. She opened her mouth, but was halted in speaking when the man raised his hand in a gesture that demanded silence. He walked closer to the bed, to stand next to her. He picked up a jug of water and an apparently empty cup sitting on a small wooden table beside the bed. He began pouring and spoke as he did so.

"I am Robb Stark, Heir of Winterfell, son of Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Now that you know who I am. You should also be aware of the penalties you may face once you decide to begin speaking as they can be severe. You should know that I will expect the truth. If you do not give it or if you chose test my patience it would be a great and regretful waste of your energies…" though he spoke softly Myra could sense the power behind his words, he placed the jug back on the table and held the cup out towards her. "Now drink this to ease your throat. And speak…"

Myra shifted up against the bed frame, propping herself up against her pillow. As she moved she became aware that it was not only one direwolf lying on the bed. A body and coat colour that distinctly belonged to Silver lay pressed against her leg. It was then she realized that the direwolf, whose head she had been stroking, was lying almost protectively over Silver's body. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Silver's head poked up at Myra's movement. The wolf lying over Silver's body sat up so that she could move to rest her head against Myra's stomach. Myra glanced curiously at the yellow-eyed direwolf now sitting calmly back next to her feet, though she only took up half of bed the larger wolf remained close to her.

The cup still suspended in midair before her face swayed gently grabbing her attention. Myra finally reached out and clasped the cool metal cup in between her hands. She felt weaker than she that ever felt in all of her life. As she lifted the cup to her lips she thought of what she should say to the grey-eyed man standing next to her. Robb Stark. Despite having had no dealings with anyone outside of her mother, she judged that this man seemed to be fair-minded. All of her being told her that from his tone and manner of conduct she was right in believing so.

It was not only this but there was also something else, some intuition in the deep dark of her that told her so. Myra tried to think of why she should lie to him. As she took a sip of water it dawned on her that she really had nothing worth hiding. Nothing in her life seemed to merit lying in any case to such a man. The cold water slid down her throat causing her to cough at the shock of the feeling against her rare throat.

Silver raised her head, as Myra's body shook. Lord Stark took the cup back, returning it to the table. Myra made sure to clear her airways before attempting to speak. "Th-thank you for saving me my lord," she cleared her throat once again, her voice still sounded raspy to her ears. "And Silver's too" she added stroking her wolf's neck. She looked up at the man next to her, who merely nodded in acknowledgement.

"I am Myra. I have no cause to lie to you, so I won't, though I don't know what I could tell that would be of any interest. You s-" she began coughing again. Evidently speaking for so quickly and in one breath was not in keeping with the amount of strength she held in her body. She pressed her hand against her chest as Silver shifted closer to her face, softly nudging at Myra's cheeks. "It's all right Silver." Myra whisper to her wolf. She cleared her throat again, before looking back up at Lord Stark. She felt unnerved by his gaze, it was intense his expression seemed torn. Myra did not know how to respond to this sort of stare so she simply sniffed and let her eyes slip back down to Silver's form.

"Sorry my lord. I may have to go on a little more slowly" she took a breath. "You see I've lived there in what I'm sure is now just a mound of ash all of my life. My mother..." she suddenly choked on the word. This was neither from breathlessness nor out of weakness. She had not expected to feel such immense sadness at simply uttering the maternal title. "I'm so-orry Lord Stark,," she mumbled as Silver pushed her head against Myra face once more. "I…normally I'm not so…messy..." she muttered collecting herself. She swallowed before continuing.

"My mother, or at least the woman I knew to be my mother never gave a reason for why we lived as we did in the North. She had always been concerned with keeping me there, away from everyone…" she took another deep breath and carried on. "When the fire came and she was about to ah, about to pass… she told me that my real mother had been um..." she closed her eyes as she stumbled through her oration, "raped…" with that one word her head seemed to throb more and her wounds seemed to burn more. She licked her lips, forcing herself to continue on, though she was feeling even weaker than a few moments before. Weaker than she ever believed herself of capable being. Her eyes opened but she felt them droop with weariness.

"My mother said she promised to my real mother that she would keep me safe. I suppose…" she grinned humourlessly, "that makes me a bastard of the North…a Snow." She swore that she saw Lord Stark flinch out of the corner of her eye.

She lifted her gaze up to face him yet again. "I am truly sorry my lord. I have nothing else that I can tell you, for there is nothing else I know about my mother…even about myself." His eyes softened as he seemed to hear the truth in her words.

"Not at all," as he spoke Myra felt the ills within her body ease to some extent. Some calm washed over her, she sighed a little. "Forgive me, you must be tried. You have suffered through much in these past few days. And you have yet more healing ahead of you…"

Myra felt another the nose of the other direwolf comfortingly nuzzle the hand she still had placed on Silver's neck. She wanted to giggle but instead found she only had strength enough to smile drowsily over Silver at the other wolf. "Is this wolf yours my lord?"

"Yes," she could hear the smile in his voice. "His name is Grey Wind."

"Grey Wind..." she nodded in approval. "Good, fast name…" she moved her hand to rub Grey Wind's head. From personal experience and study of many legendary stories, Myra knew direwolves to generally be intelligent, protective and fiercely loyal, as such they were not easily trusting of strangers. It took Silver months to leave Myra alone with her own mother. Eventually she grew to be protective of them both but it still took time. She turned her head to face Robb Stark. "Is he always so…?"

The young lord appeared to understand the meaning behind her hanging question and shook his head in response. "No." His grey eyes were stormy and intense again. "Not even with my siblings' wolves. Not even with my siblings themselves."

"Oh…" her expression filled with confusion. She had been sure he would have said that his wolf was simply a uniquely affectionate creature. "That's…" but she felt she had no will to speak. "I am sorry my lord." Her hand fell from Grey Wind's snout. "I fear…too tried to talk…" she murmured, slumping back against her pillow, Silver returning to lie atop her stomach.

"That's quite all right," the young man stated.

She smiled softly, as her eyes fluttered shut. "You are lulling me…"

Robb Stark lingered for a moment, staring contemplatively at the girl with silver blonde hair. "I lulled you…" He scoffed raising an eyebrow at Grey Wind, who moved to lie over the wolf he now knew as Silver.

Robb had pulled himself away from the girl's bedside with about as much enthusiasm as his mother had left Bran's chambers. However, whatever he had been feeling at leaving her seemed to affect Grey Wind about ten times worse. He could not understand it. Robb had made Theon, Maester Luwin and her nurses, the only other people who had really had a chance to see her, swear to hold their tongues about the girl's appearance.

With these actions alone, Robb knew he was thinking of her safety rather than concerning himself with his fealty to King Robert's crown. King Robert, with his taste for any blood associated with the Mad King's line...

Robb shook his head as he made his way towards his chambers he thought of how he should have been berating himself for being so irresponsible. His brother and mother had only been attacked inside of these walls, within the last forty-eight hours and here was he, Heir of Winterfell, housing a strange woman that he did not know. And it seemed who did not wholly know herself.

He looked down at Grey Wind, who trailed him down the halls of Winterfell. Of any creature who appeared to know anything, Grey Wind looked to be the only one completely certain of his own judgment. Robb lips quirked upwards as he cast a glance down at his grey wolf. He felt positive that if his wolf could trust her so could he. And even if Grey Wind had not reacted in the way that he had, Robb had still felt a strange sort of draw to this particular person. There was something about her. Something that had him grinning like a fool, he was sure. It was a grin that he could not shake from his lips, even as he checked on Bran and the extra guards he had assigned to guard the castle and he found it still there when he woke in the middle of the night to take his own shift for castle watch as well.

Ta da!