Who Cares711: I agree completely. Tormund is such a great character, definitely one of my favourites, and there aren't enough stories about him. I hope this story lives up to your excitement.

CHAPTER TWO


SIX YEARS LATER...

Tall, wild and beautiful, Deandra was famed all over the Seven Kingdoms and feared and envied across the North.

Her playful and untamed nature had earned her the same moniker her father had and she was delighted to be known as the Wild Wolf. Her uncle Ned wasn't particularly pleased, he believed it was the Wolf Blood that had got two of his siblings killed and he worried what that would mean for his niece. The name made many weary, and with good reason.

Her beauty appeared to contradict her fierce personality and that was just the way she liked it. It made her seem innocent and kind and so her actions would be unpredictable, to those who didn't know her at least. She was often likened to that of her aunt Lyanna in both looks and spirit, a woman whose beauty caused a war and thousands of deaths — including her own.

Deandra thankfully didn't have her aunt's dainty height. Her willowy stature was something she had always been proud of and at six and ten she stood only a fraction shorter than Eddard. It always amused her that she could look down upon the men in her family, Robb and Jon didn't like being called short, although she learned that many men were intimidated by her figure.

One man in particular remained undaunted by her height and actually rather liked being able to look directly into her eyes without casting his own downwards.

Jory Cassel was a loyal man and each time he so much as looked at her, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Deandra was the niece of one of his closest friends and his liege Lord yet he was drawn to her. He was drawn to her as if she were the brightest flame and it would have taken everything and more to resist her call.

Deandra had always been fond of Jory, ever since the age of one and ten. She found his shoulder length auburn hair to be uncontrollably attractive and his deep, brown eyes unfairly swoon worthy. Of course she knew that he was over twice her age but another part of her mind reminded her that many ladies would be married off to men like that. It was at the age of five and ten that, that side of her won out.

Now a year and countless kisses and roaming hands later, Deandra found herself pressed against a tree with Jory's lips on hers. As they broke apart their foreheads pressed gently together, the two attempting to regain their breath.

"Do you have to leave?"

Deandra smiled at the sadness in her almost-lover's tone. It was nice to know she would be missed. "I have to go to Starfall." She replied simply. "I'm not only a Stark."

Jory's calloused hands brushed her cheek tenderly and he pressed one more quick kiss to her plump lips. "I know."

Deandra watched him as he walked away from her. Her purple gaze dropped to his behind, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. "Come by my room later." She didn't raise her voice, knowing that he would hear her, and not wanting anyone else that may be lurking about to eavesdrop.

Jory glanced over a muscular shoulder, his locks swinging. "Of course, my lady." He answered smoothly before disappearing from her line of view.


It was odd, Deandra mused later that night, knowing that this would be her last night in Winterfell for a few years — if her plan worked out. She had grown to love the castle and its people. They were kind and honourable but stern and fierce, a refreshing change from the schemers down south.

She glanced down to see Arya and little Bran now at her sides. While Jon and Robb were probably her closest cousins, she would always adore, and maybe secretly prefer, the two clinging to her waist.

"You can't leave!" Arya cried. As a child of eight summer's, she couldn't remember a time when Deandra hadn't been in her life and she didn't want that to change. The tall woman was the one who had first encouraged Arya's wish to be a knight and a fighter and had actually provided the girl with her very own bow — Arya's most treasured possession.

"You can't!" Bran reinforced, tears sparkling in his dark eyes. Bran had always been a soft and sweet boy with a thirst for adventure and it hurt to see him upset. Deandra was the only one to join him when climbing and had saved him from falling too many times to count. Bran saw her almost as a partner-in-crime who would also sing to him and tell him scary stories. She was easily a better big sister than Sansa.

"It won't be forever." She soothed. Arya and Bran were lucky enough to see her kind half. It wasn't often she let it show — she was a southerner too and genuine kindness was a rarity. She much preferred being witty and rude. "I'll write and tell you of all the stupid things I do and I'll bring you both back a present."

"Promise?" By the Gods, Deandra had thought that she had perfected guilt tripping someone but with their big brown and grey eyes, it turned out that these cousins of hers may have been better. They would grow up to be heartbreakers. Bran was always a good looking lad but Arya's beauty was too often dismissed for Sansa's. Deandra admitted that Sansa would be a beautiful Lady but it was Arya that inherited the same genes as her and Lyanna. The three had the same colour hair and a similar facial structure, though Arya's resemblance was arguably stronger, and based off such things, Arya would be beautiful — or at least pretty.

"I promise." It would be difficult, incredibly difficult to do so, but Deandra intended to keep her promise. Promises and oaths were something the Starks did not take lightly. Deandra's opinion of them was a little more moderate. She understood the weight of a promise and she believed that once you promised something that you should do it, but she knew that not everyone else did. Promises were a debt and the liability to pay it back depended on a person's morals. Sadly, morals were lacking amongst the population and the concept of a true promise was practically foreign. "Now off to bed — where you should be."" Deandra ordered in an attempt to be stern. It backfired by the grin on her lips as the two took off running through the halls.

The grin was still settled snugly on her lips as she entered her own room. In fact, it grew at the sight she was presented with. "What if someone else had come in?" She asked.

Jory smiled softly at her, the few lines on his face fading. He was a handsome man and any woman would be lucky to have him. "Then I would say that I was returning my Lady's hair pin."

Deandra's hand automatically jumped to her hair where she discovered that she was actually missing a pin. "You prick."

Jory laughed quietly before it died out suddenly. He was silent as he watched Deandra lock her door and remove her furs. Her dress today was exquisite. It was rather revealing for a Northern woman but she wore it well, the almost verdant fabric caging her lithe frame in a sensual caress of silk with the valley of her round breasts exposed and slivers of her porcelain skin taunting wandering eyes.

"It's my last night in Winterfell." Were her words as she sauntered closer to him. Each step was tantalising and Jory could feel his ability to breath escaping him. He couldn't do anything as she stopped with only a measly foot between them as she placed her hands delicately on his chest. "I don't want to leave as a little girl."

Jory forced himself to step back. "I've already taken so much, I can't do that." He wanted to and he would have if she had continued to stare at him with those compelling eyes of hers. They had yet to lay together as man and woman but it would be a lie to say that he hadn't thought about it.

"I won't be back for years." Deandra reminded him. "I doubt I'll stay a little girl once I reach Dorne." While it was a bit mean to manipulate him like that, she was being truthful. Dorne was a lot more liberal than any other of the kingdoms and Deandra had a waited a long time for Jory, she wasn't sure how much longer she was willing to wait. She had no plans to marry some Lord, if she was to marry at all she hoped it would be for love, but right now she just wanted to lose the last touch of her innocence with her first love.

Jory wasn't her endgame, Deandra knew that. She loved Jory in a way she would never love anyone again, he was her first kiss and hopefully her first lover, but she wasn't childish enough to believe they could last. Oddly enough, the prospect wasn't as harrowing as she'd have thought it might be. She was quite content knowing that she still had the whole world to discover and plenty of men, and women, to taste.

She closed the distance between them once more. "Jory..." her hands cupped his cheeks, "I want you to make love to me. I understand that you're worried or guilty but we can't choose who we fall in love with. We can choose what we do with our love and if you're lucky enough to have the one you love in your arms, how stupid would you be to reject their advances?"

Jory was wide eyed as he gazed at her, his pupils blown and his vision slightly dazed before his lips crashed onto hers with a fervour she had never experienced.