Chapter 1: Winterfell's Ward

291 AL

All Sandrine could do was smile as her soul surviving daughter grew. She was becoming a young women, and was given the freedom to not act like one.

Sandrine stood beside her now closest friend Catelyn Tully, the wife of Lord Eddard Stark, smiling and laughing at watching their children play.

Plio was playing with Catelyn's eldest son, Robb, along with the bastard of House Stark, Jon Snow. They were playing Princes and Princess', Plio's favourite game. It was her tenth name day, and Robb had taken it upon himself to spoil his friend with whatever she wanted to do.

The Starks were a large family. Robb had turned ten four months before Plio had, along with Jon. Next was Sansa, the gorgeous five year old girl who was a mirror image of her mother. Followed by a three year old Arya, known for looking like her father, and two year old Bran, the knight in training. Sansa had no interest in running around in the wet mud that covered the floor of Winterfell's courtyard, where as Arya and Bran were too small to keep up with the three ten year olds.

Although Sandrine was captivated by her daughter, she couldn't help but feel jealous of Catelyn Stark's swollen belly. She with child and this would be her fifth. Sandrine had longed for another child, but she was now barren and it took so long and had caused so much pain just to get Plio.

Once, it had got so bad she was willing to raise a then 1 year old Jon Snow. Sandrine Lonmouth was a women who cursed with a single child and a desire for more.

She shook her head just as she had heard a scream. Eddard's ward, Theon Greyjoy, was holding Jon to a wall by his throat and Plio was lying on the ground. She was covered in mud with blood dripping from her nose.

"Take your hands off him Greyjoy!" Robb shouted, trying to menacing as he pointed his wooden sword towards the older boy.

"Why should I? He's just a runt, nobody would miss him." He taunted, shrugging.

"Theon!" Ned shouted as his towering frame appeared in the door way, disturbed from his council. "You are no in the Iron Islands, you are in the North. I will not tolerate this foolery!"

With that, the boy unhanded Jon and bowed to the northern Lord, apologising to the ground. Jon fell in a heap to the floor.

Sandrine ran to her daughter as Ned left the squabbling children, with Cat making her way to Robb.

She wiped her daughters nose on her sleeve, "Plio, my darling, are you-"

Plio didn't waste a second, she scrambled away from her mother and to Jon, still sat in the mud and examining his grazed hands.

"Jon, are you ok? Let me see." She asked the boy.

Plio and Jon had always been fond of one another, ever since they could talk or run. Jon looked up at her, a sheepish smile on his face. "I'll be fine, its just a scrape. I'm not even bleeding."

Plio helped him to his feet and he stumbled. Robb went over to help support his brother as they helped him to a bench.

Robb and Jon had a unique relationship. Despite Jon's status as the Bastard of Winterfell and Eddard's only mistake, the two were as close as two brothers could be. True born or otherwise. Plio was the best friend to both of them, the three being inseparable for years.

However, this made Plio an outsider in the eyes of the other girls her age in Winterfell. She didn't care much for needlepoint or dancing. Instead, Plio preferred to run, learn swordplay and archery. This came in her favour, though, as the women of House Lonmouth were all taught to fight with weapons and to hunt, but they also studied the crafts more associated with women. They knew how to be women and how to be warriors.

Plio knew that she was a woman and that she wanted to be a warrior. It would be getting her to conform that would prove difficult.

It wasn't until a half year later that the young girl started to become a women worthy of her title.

292 AL

The youngest of House Stark, Rickon, was born on a summers evening. He had thin, tiny ringlets of auburn hair and a face that could heal all evil.

Catelyn was holding her newborn. No matter the babes beauty, no one could prevent him from crying. She paced with him, rocked him, sang to him. Nothing seemed to help.

Then, one morning, she woke to hear the boy crying. She ran to his nursery in a state of tire and panic only to hear the crying stop as she was ten large paces from the room.

She snuck to the nursery to see Plio, still in her nightgown, sat on a small chair by her sons bassinet. Plio had her book in her lap, using one hand to turn the page. The other was tickling Rickon before he grabbed a finger in his tiny hand as she read fairy tales to him.

All Catelyn could do was stand there smiling, caught between selfishly wanting to go back to bed for another couple of hours and wanting to continue watching as Rickon gurgled with contentment at his new friend.

It was like that for a while, until Rickon could walk and talk at least. Plio would tend to him when the other women and Catelyn couldn't. It allowed her to rest, until her youngest child began to grow up.

That was the first sign of Plio growing up. Slowly, she spent less time using what few minutes she had free running after Robb and Jon, and more of it doing more women like activities. She sewed, she sang, she danced.

However, due to her own family traditions, she still learnt to fight with swords and other weapons. By 12, she could split her challengers arrows. By 14, she knew how to make the best of her weaknesses.

By 15, she fell in love.

Who would know that by 17, she would lose him.