The winter had vanished quickly. Already the fresh green shoots had pushed through the earth and blossoms had broken out across The North. Whilst many would assume that the northerners would be grateful for so short a winter, the northerners themselves didn't trust the quick change in seasons. From Bear Island to the Bay of Seals, the northerners muttered that so short a Winter would lead to a short Summer, a scant harvest, and a long cruel winter thereafter.
Karys knelt by a flowering shrub and, using a silver dagger she pulled from her belt, deftly removed several flower head and topmost leaves from the fresh green stalks. She examined the specimens for signs of corruption before binding the bunch with a piece of twine and placing it in one of the saddlebags on her horse. Then she took the reigns in her hand, and lead the horse further into the wood in search of more plants. Today she had already collected tansy, gillyflower, hyssop and feverfew. They were bound in twine and placed in the pockets of a leather workbelt that hung around her hips. These would all make valuable additions to her store of medicinal herbs, as stocks had grown low over the winter.
Although it was normally the maester who was in charge of taking care of the sick and injured in the castle, Karys had shown a natural aptitude for the work. She enjoyed doing it, partly because it allowed her hours of peaceful solitude whilst studying, but also because it meant that she could spend many hours outside collecting the herbs and plants that were used to treat everything from upset stomachs to injuries from the practice yard. With the help of the maester she was learning the names and functions of the plants of the North, when they were ready to be picked, how to dry them, how to mix them together with other substances to create medicine. She was also learning how the art of medicine was a subtle danced that often turned close to the edge of ore sinister arts. Though maester Luwin had refused to answer her questions on the matter, hours spent alone in the library with a free reign meant that she was not so ignorant as he would have perhaps hoped. In one of the pockets on her workbelt lay a few smaller bunches that had been taken from plants much deeper in the forest, growing next to a crystalline pool and at the entrance to dark cave. Wolfsbane, Septa's Hood, and Nightshade sprigs were bound and wrapped in cloth to prevent anyone discovering loose leaves. This also prevented any of the leaves mixing with the medicinal herbs - mixing the sinister and the benevolent would be a fatal mistake. But most of all, she didn't want her father to know about her growing interest in the topic.
He may have been more willing than many of the southron lords to put a sword or bow and arrow in his daughters' hands, because Northerners knew that when the winter's snows lie deep everyone had to work together to survive. It didn't matter if you were a man or a woman, it was the sword in your hand that mattered, not the one between your legs. However, poison was not an honourable weapon. It was a weapon that belonged to cravens, women and Dornishmen. It required subtlety, forethought, and the ability to act in cold blood. It was wielded by those in whom you trusted, those who you brought into your household perhaps into your bed. It required you to look an enemy in the eye and present the face of a loyal subject or loving family member. It tainted your life-sustaining food and your thirst quenching water. It didn't require bodily strength, and even the largest bear of a man could succumb to but a few drops of the right substance. Karys knew that such a weapon would be frowned upon by her honourable father, but she couldn't help but be fascinated by how such beautiful and serene plants could hide death behind their innocent looking flowers. Let her father and brothers keep their broadswords and shields. As far as she was concerned she was more at risk of dying in her bed by child or by husband than on a battle field. Her pains were more likely to be healed with a a tainted cup than a blade. And as for the act itself? She could act in cold blood. She was a daughter of Winterfell. There was ice in her veins.
Karys stood up and made her way towards her horse. Reaching up, she swept the light dusting of snow from the saddle, and mounted the horse. Karys rode fully astride the horse, just as a man would. Just the other day, a Southron riding master had been trying to show her and Lyanna how to ride side-saddle like a true lady. Both had been covered in bruises by the end of the session, and the riding master had been in tears. Karys had managed to stay on for one turn around the paddock, but she saw little point in the practice. She didn't ride to show herself off. Gods help he lady who tried to ride side-saddle across the rough northern landscape. Rocky outcrops, concealed marshes, and snow-drifts would have her thrown from her horse in moments. Karys urged the horse on faster, harder. All the stark children were strong riders, Brandon and Lyanna had been called half centaur several times. It was a necessity in the North, which was larger than all the other kingdoms in Westeros, but it was also a joy. The cold fresh air burned Karys' cheeks and caught in her chest, and she loved every minute of it. Even across the wet and softening Spring earth, she would make it to Winterfell before the sun set.
The ride went by quickly and she was within sight of the winter town. She skirted the edge of the Wolfswood and pulled her horse back, easing the pace as she rode around a rocky outcrop. As she navigated the rough ground, she heard the sounds of shouts and cries from behind a large rock, and what sounded like a high pitched, pathetic, whining. With a quick tug at the reins, she turned her horse around to investigate. As she circled the stone she came across two shepherd boys, who appeared to be hitting the ground with sticks, shrieking and cursing.
One of the boys was older, tall and wiry, with sharp cheekbones. The other was younger, but stout and strong. When she looked closer, she saw it was not the ground that the boys were hitting, but a small writhing creature, covered in white fur. A tiny wolf pup that cried with each lash. a few steps away, a grey pup lay motionless and bloody, it's tiny life beaten out of swept through Karys. The wolf was the sigil of her house, and the boys' laughter aroused something cold and vicious inside her heart.
"Stop," she called from atop her horse, "stop right this instant."
The boys looked around at her, curious and cruel leers on their faces. She felt a sense of unease run down her spine at the look in their eyes. The taller boy shouted "Why don't you fuck off," before turning back towards the pup.
"I said stop right now," she shouted as she swung herself from the saddle before taking two steps towards the boys.
This time it was the stout boy who turned and spoke to her. "And if we don't? What's a tiny girl like you going to do if we don't stop? I reckons a slip of a thing like you would break as easily as these pups did. Ten times as easy as their mother - she was the last bitch who got into our business. We sorted her out, just like we'll sort you out princess" he said, eyes roving over Karys' fine cloak and dress that singled her out as well-born.
She remained rooted to the spot, glaring at the stout boy, trying to direct all her ice cold rage at him through her stare. The Boy started to move towards her in a predatory way and he said, "wolves is only good for beating, but maybe we could find another use for soft, little lady like you..."
He was so close that Karys could feel his hot breath on her cold cheeks. He reached out and ran a rough and clumsy hand over the front of her robes, groping for breasts that Karys had not yet developed. A pulse throbbed in her neck, begging for her to run and something inside her fought a battle between panic and rage. But there was something else inside her too. Something ice cold seemed to course through her blood, telling her what to do. Softly and swiftly, she removed her silver dagger from her belt. Quick as a flash she brought it up and pressed it against the side of the boy's neck, the blade biting at the skin.
"You're right," she hissed, " I am a proper little lady. I am Karys Stark of Winterfell; youngest daughter of Rickard Stark, Warden of the North and your liege lord. I wonder what he and my brothers will do to you when they find out what you have said to me?"
Karys watched with a sense of triumph as the stout boy's eyes flashed from the blade to the other boy - half pleading have panicking. "But maybe I won't give you over to their mercy," Karys continued keeping her voice soft and sweet, "I've been studying with the maester and I know where all your blood runs through you. I could cut you hard and deep and let you go quickly or," and she dug the blade in a little deeper, "I could make it long and shallow, and let you live long enough to know you are dying... Long eough to see the fear in your eyes..."
The stout boy stepped back quickly, his eyes darting around for an escape, a thin trickle of red making its way down his neck. Karys, with blade still in front of her, moved towards the ball of fur and picked it up without turning her back on the boys. Then she returned to her horse, and mounted the saddle with the pup tucked under her arm. Taking the reins in her remaining hand, she kicked her horse into a canter and rode straight for Winterfell.
As she entered the gate of the imposing keep, she slowed her pace before dismounting in the courtyard and handing her steed to one of the stable boys. She hurried through the main doors, across the entrance hall and towards the main stairs. She climbed the stairs breathlessly until she reached a small room at the top of one of the tallest towers.
Inside the room, which was small but comfortable, a fire had already been lit by one of the serving boys. This was Karys' sanctum. Although she had a good-sized bedroom in another part of the castle next to her sister's, this room was where she spent most of her time. Opposite the door was a small work bench, covered in jars of dried plants and pieces of parchment. From the ceiling hung crystals, minerals and bunches of dried flowers. Two large windows gave the room a clear view of the land beyond Winter's Town. On the other side of the room was a small set of shelves filled with books borrowed from Winterfell's main library. Finally at the end of the room two comfortable armchairs were placed next to the fireplace, covered in warm blankets and wolf skins. Grabbing one of these blankets, Karys knelt in front of the fire and created a small nest into which she placed the still trembling, but now silent, pup.
'Shh,' she said 'It's alright now."
Two dark eyes looked up at her. "It's just you and me now. I'm going to look after you."
