A/N: Oh my God, what a crazy season that is! Winter is here, chaos is here and the new chapter of the story is here. A huge thank you to all those who read, review, follow and favorite, it means a lot, guys :)
Dark Serpent Cat: Wow, interesting suggestions both of them! Unfortunately, the plot as I have planned it doesn't have Deana meeting Ramsay, but I can make him hear about her through Roose Bolton and become obsessed with the thought of a dynamic bastard girl who isn't laid-back and frightened.
jean d' arc: Oh, well, from this point is where the really ominous things start for the Starks. Glad you liked the chapter :)
HOAfan8509: Thank you so much for your review, I'm glad you like the way Deana fits in the story. To be honest, I had thought about Gendry as a future pair for Deana too, but I'm a big Gendry/Arya shipper too ;) Thanks for the suggestion, though.
HPuni101: Oh, your curiosity shall be rewarded, my friend...let's see how our girl's story will proceed ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Game of Thrones universe and characters.
"Nettle poultice is one of the most important medicines we have and we must constantly produce it anew now we're at war," the healer explained to Deana, whose grey eyes were focused on the nettles settled on the table. "If used immediately after someone sustains an injury, it could prevent the wound from getting infected, meaning that we will have more hopes at healing the injured and even saving their life."
"Then perhaps I could carry a small amount of it with me when we ride to battle, just in case someone is gravely injured and there is no time for him to come to you," the young woman mumbled, eyes still not leaving the various herbs and healing essences in front of her. "And what do we use boiled wine for?" she wanted to know next, pointing at a pitcher with the aforementioned liquid.
After having participated in her first true battle, Deana had decided that it was time for her to start her training in the processes of healing and tending to injuries of various types. She had reached the conclusion that, if many of the soldiers had fallen during an ambush that did not even last long, things would be more difficult when they would encounter the Lannister armies in the frontlines; and since she was fighting as well, having medical knowledge would be crucial to her and those fighting with her. Therefore she ignored the healer's cold look and behavior, as if she was doing her a favor to tutor her, and paid close attention to her explanations. She wished she could write everything down, but parchment was short in numbers these days and they needed every piece to write reports and warnings and so she listened even more intently and stored every piece of information in her mind for future use.
"Boiled wine is an effective way to cleanse wounds. Very useful, although it leaves an intense stinging feeling behind. I needed to quiet down strong men twice the size of yours who would not stop screaming at the pain."
Shuddering at the thought, Deana averted her gaze from the table and took a look around the healing tent, noticing how everything was in order, according to the type of medicine and what it was used for. At that moment, though, she noticed several small bottles on a shelf, containing an identical reddish substance that glowed in the rays of the early morning sun that slipped through the cloth covering the tent's entrance and she wondered why the healers would separate it from the other medicines.
"Don't look that way!" her tutor scolded her now, her tone becoming angrier and stricter; Deana had the impression that, were she not Robb's sister, the other woman would even turn her away forcefully. "This is one of the most dangerous substances we have: Essence of Nightshade!"
"Essence of Nightshade?" the seventeen-year-old repeated, the name sounding oddly familiar to her; perhaps Maester Luwin or Septa Mordane had mentioned it in the past. "I have heard the name, but no one cared to explain more. Why is it considered so dangerous?"
"Because it may be helpful when used carefully, but it is fatal in large doses. One drop in wine can calm your nerves, three drops can put you in a deep sleep…but drink ten drops, even with wine, and you will not wake up from your sleep."
Ten drops? Ten drops are enough to kill you? Deana thought, another shudder running down her spine and her eyes quickly avoiding the bottles with the essence, as if she would fall down unconscious by merely looking at them. Before they could continue, though,, approaching steps were heard outside the tent, followed by a guard's voice.
"Lady Deana, Lord Stark is requesting your presence immediately! There are urgent news you need you learn!"
Deana frowned when she heard these words, her mind travelling to every possible negative announcement her brother wanted to make her. Despite the fact that she tried to be composed, worrying and fearing was something she could not stop, especially when she was about to hear unpleasant news. Still, deciding to wait until she knew what had occurred, she quickly concealed her emotions, thanked the healer for her time and followed the guard to Robb's tent, although she could not avoid how almost all men stared curiously and even pityingly towards her as she passed by, something that only increased the terror that threatened to overwhelm her; what in the Seven Hells had happened? Even Winter beside her had grown restless, like he could feel her distress, and he snarled and growled softly as they reached the tent.
At that moment, though, she left a loud gasp at the sight of Robb exiting the tent without even paying attention to her, looking completely distraught, with tears running down his face and his breaths coming with difficulty. "Robb!" Deana called out after him, but her brother did not turn around to see her; he merely continued his way, making cold shivers run down her spine, for he had never avoided her like that before.
Something happened. Something horrible, but…what?
The Wall, Winterfell, King's Landing. Jon, Bran, Rickon, their father, Sansa, Arya. Every possibility crossed her mind, her combativeness abandoned her and she could not even move, she only stared blankly in front of her, not daring to enter the tent and hear what had upset Robb so much.
"Lady Deana…" the guard standing in front of the tent addressed her reluctantly, pulling back the cloth and therefore forcing her to enter. She could not do otherwise, the more she delayed the worse it got anyway.
Another shock awaited her in the tent, where only Ser Rodrik, Lord Umber and Lady Catelyn were present, all of them with mournful expressions and grim gazes, a heavy air lingering around. When seeing her, the auburn-haired woman took her leave as well, following her eldest son, without sparing the younger a second look and with no ironic looks or scolding remarks like usual. Her presence, on the other hand, made Deana's thoughts take a more specific path than the guesses she tried to make earlier.
If the news concerned Jon, Lady Catelyn would not be in the tent to hear them first; Robb and I would learn first and someone would announce it to her later. And that means…
"Something happened in Winterfell or King's Landing," she spoke to the men, who exchanged looks of confusion and regret, as if they did not know how to deliver the news. Despite her attempts to hide her fear and appear as strong and ready to listen, she couldn't stop her knees from shaking and her voice from sounding meek and desperate; just like in the past, when Jon caught the pox and she had asked Maester Luwin if he would live.
"My lady…I am truly sorry."
The parchment Ser Rodrik handed her didn't contain many words. It was enough, though, to make Deana's mind blank as all thoughts vanished, leaving only an intense stinging and an insufferable pain behind, combined with terrifying images that made her throw the parchment on the table and hold herself from a chair to not fall down. King's Landing…the crowd…her father…the boy king who had given the order and was such a coward that he needed a henchman to carry it out…Her father beheaded like a traitor under false accusations, even after he 'confessed' everything—Deana understood at once how lying the content of this word was.
He confessed a treason he did not commit…possibly because he had thought that this would save him and the girls…and now…
She could not think clearly, her head was spinning and she had the feeling she would throw up at any moment. But still, she did not want the two men seeing her in this condition; she had joined this army as a fighter and that's how they should see her, not a bastard in mourning. "Pardon me, Lord Umber, Ser Rodrik, I…I would like to stay on my own for a while," she whispered without raising her head, knowing that eye contact would break the small endurances she had left.
"Of course, lassie." the Greatjon nodded and the sound of retreating steps was heard.
Deana didn't even try to stop the first tears from running down her face; now that she was alone she had no reason to fake composure and bravery. Further images danced in her mind, making her tears run faster on her cheeks: images and memories of her childhood, of her father laughing at something fun she had done with Jon and Robb…of him smiling proudly when she started improving in archery…of him showing his fatherly tenderness in a silent way in order not to infuriate his wife but still kind and loving, like caressing her hair or squeezing her shoulder…of him thanking her for helping in the Stark household after Bran's accident.
He was always good to her and Jon, not once showing despise or even hatred because of the stain their bastardy had given to his honor. No matter how Lady Catelyn treated them, no matter how almost everyone told him that he should send the twins away, he had always treated them as if they were true members of House Stark. How many times had Deana heard accusation for that, how many ironic comments about her mother and how much Lord Stark had loved her if he didn't want to get rid of her children.
Her mother…he had even mentioned her mother before leaving for King's Landing, had told her she would be proud of her and Jon…had promised her that one day she would learn everything. Deana's thoughts about the woman who had brought her into the world mostly circles around questions about how she looked like, if she was alive and whether she loved her and Jon, but her mother was nothing more than something distant, abstract; still, Lord Stark's promise to tell her everything had sparked a hope in her that she would finally learn everything she wanted.
Now we've lost both our parents, Jon, she thought; with her father gone, her mother's image in her mind vanished at the same time, for it was as if both her parents had died with this tragedy.
Feeling like suffocating and desperately needing to distract herself with something in order not to succumb to her grief, she wore her emotionless mask once more and left her brother's tent in order to go take her bow and shoot arrows at the archery field until she couldn't think about anything and anyone. As she walked through the camp, she could feel the others' gazes on her, heard muttering words, some compassionate, some ironic about her bastardy and her grief, but she merely blocked everything without answering back; right now she felt deprived of her strength, as if the she-warrior in her had been replaced by a shell. She only landed back to reality when she fell on a young squire, who seemed to be around seventeen years old and looked at her with concern.
"Begging your pardon, m'lady, I did not mean to hurt you," he apologized and Deana could not help but smile sadly at the way he addressed her with; she knew that people used this form of courtesy only out of respect for her brother, but right now she felt grateful for his kindness.
"Do not be troubled, it's quite alright; in fact, I should apologize…" she replied and her voice had lost the determination and combativeness it always had; now it was barely a whisper, like the soft, crisp breeze blowing all around, "forgive me, I do not know your name."
"Gared Tuttle, m'lady, squire of Lord Gregor Forrester," the young man said and the female Snow recalled the honorable fighter who served House Glover and had joined Robb's army together with his eldest son. "M'lady, if I may be so bold…allow me to offer my sincere condolences for Lord Stark's passing. Lord Forrester always spoke with much respect of him and I know he was a very noble man."
Condolences. How many times would she hear this word? Despite appreciating it, despite feeling proud of her father, who had gained everyone's sympathy and loyalty thanks to his character, Deana thought that these comforting words were empty, meaningless, inadequate to do her father justice or properly honoring his memory. Still, the squire had spoken out of a good heart and she had no right to take out her grief and hatred for the Lannisters on him, so she simply gave him a polite nod and a small smile as silent thanks for his kind words.
We shall take it out on those who sent my father beneath the ground…On that boy king…on his mother who has his back…on the arrogant kingslayer of a brother she has!
Crying and sobbing in his mother's arms, swearing revenge against House Lannister and expressing his despair for his father's death and his sisters' imprisonment had done Robb good. He knew that now his bannermen needed to see him even stronger and more composed than before, something he could not achieve if he kept everything hidden in him without bursting out. For a few moments he had returned back to the days and years before he became Lord of Winterfell; instead of commander of the Northern army he became a little boy again, who would rely on his mother's consolations after a nightmare.
Having regained his calm breathing and after handing his sword to the smith in order to repair it after bursting his nerves by repeatedly hitting a tree with it and thus ruining its blade, Robb decided to allow his mother some needed rest and search for his sister to see how she handled the tragedy that had fallen over them. He recalled that morning, when she had come to his tent and he had simply ignored her, drowned by his grief and not paying any attention to her and her terrified expression.
This is not how a good brother behaves, he thought as guilt surfaced in his mind and his eyes once again filled with tears; his thoughts travelled to his father, who had always protected Deana discretely from the despise of the world, and to Jon and how he would react if he saw them now—would he be angry at him for not telling Deana about their father's execution himself and not standing by her in an instant or would he understand?
"Ser Rodrik!" he addressed the master-of-arms, determined to make it up to his sister. "Ser Rodrik, do you know where I can find Deana?"
"She is in the archery field, my lord," the older man explained and, despite his composed voice, the mourning and sadness in his eyes could not be avoided. "I have to warn you, though, I believe she'd rather stay on her own for the moment; we tried talking to her and she did not reply at all."
"I will tend to her; thank you, Ser Rodrik."
He found Deana furiously shooting arrows at the target across from her, with a blank expression and gripping her bow tightly. She seemed to have blocked everything around her in order not to think about the emotional pain she was going through, something that was made clear when he called her name three times and received no answer. Sighing loudly, not liking her demeanor at all, he approached her and gently placed a hand on her elbow, preventing her from balancing another arrow on the bowstring.
"Deana…" he said once more, only to leave a gasp when her gaze met his: her dark grey eyes were glistening from unshed tears and held pain, rage and something wild, like a beast waiting to be unleashed and wreak havoc. "It isn't healthy for you to keep everything inside you and you know that."
Now it was Deana's turn to leave a loud sigh, for right now she was mustering all her endurances in order not to allow more tears to run down her face and Robb's concern and brotherly care did not help at all. She needed to stay strong, focus on her anger and wish for revenge instead of her grief, for if she succumbed to the latter she would be weak, useless, unable to help Robb in the battles to come.
"Deana…you have every right to mourn for him as well."
"No!" the seventeen-year-old female shook her head frantically while raising her voice as a form of defense; the more time was passing, the harder it became to keep her emotions at bay. "I have the right to feel grief, not to express it. This right belongs to your mother, you, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon, not Ned Stark's bastard daughter!"
"Who is still his daughter!" Robb raised his voice as well, now on the verge of crying anew. He could not stand seeing his sister like that, so desperate and yet so determined to maintain a composed appearance for his people's sake, to not give them reasons to insult him or mock her for openly mourning despite being born out of marriage and thus being a living stain in their father's honor.
"Robb…please, don't—"
She could not say anything more, though, for Robb engulfed her in such a tight hug that she almost ceased breathing for a moment, his head falling on her shoulder and his shoulders shaking from violent sobs. Feeling the despair and sense of uselessness overwhelming her, Deana wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly and pressing her own forehead against her brother's shoulder, seeking for something to hold on in this dark cloud surrounding her ever since she learned of Lord Stark's death. A single tear made its way on her cheek, but she didn't bother to wipe it away, the two of them staying like that for several moments…drawing strength and comfort from each other…the two of them against the upcoming storm, away from the rest of their siblings, unable to give them some consolation.
Hearing Winter and Grey Wind howling was like a signal of the chaos that would follow.
Jaime Lannister could not help but smirk when he saw the Snow girl approaching him, with an intriguing and even dangerous air surrounding her due to the night sky, the ominous glow of the torches and the white-grey direwolf beside her. Her determination and wit annoyed and irritated him and he wondered what in the Seven Hells would shut her up, but he had to admit that she was a real challenge; not even her father's death had managed to break her down, on the contrary, she looked ready to jump into action.
"If you continue coming here, I may start questioning your true intentions of your visits, Lady Snow," he commented in a calm tone and an ironic smile; even if she didn't back down from his words, it still amused him challenging her like that, testing her reactions. "Have you started growing fond of me?"
"Oh, aye, I have really started growing fond of the idea to skin you alive and then feed you to the wolves," Deana answered while balling her right hand in a fist; she knew that this was the Kingslayer's intention, to provoke her anger, but she wanted to make clear that she would not allow him to insult and mock her without replying back.
"Is that so?" Jaime left a chuckle; seriously, did this child think that she would beat him in his own game? "Then why do I think that you should watch your back now? Now that your beloved father is gone, what is preventing your so loyal bannermen from ignoring the new Lord Stark and casting you aside like the bastard girl you are? A girl who merely plays war and think she'll come out of it unscathed?"
Before he could say anything else, though, Deana knelt in front of him, yanked him from the collar of his shirt and pressed a dagger against his throat, practically fuming from rage. She had unsheathed it so swiftly, that not even a swordsman like Jaime didn't notice until he felt the cold metal against his skin; and now he was deprived of words, as if truly fearing that one sound from him would give him a cut throat.
"Listen here, Lannister. The only reason I'm not killing you right now is because we need you to save Arya and Sansa from your sister and that blond bastard who sits on the Iron Throne and even needed a henchman to execute my father," she hissed and her words sounded so deathly as if she had screamed them. She could not believe the nerve of this man, who didn't even hesitate to use Robb's men in order to trick her and make her feel inferior; the hand that was holding the dagger did not tremble in the least, it was steady and confidently gripping the hilt. "And when winter comes and buries you lions in the snow, then I will send my regards."
When Deana took her leave, the Lannister captive kept staring at her retreating back, a part of him unable to believe that this girl had actually threatened him in such a way. From composed and ironic like she was yesterday, tonight she had turned fierce, combative and he even dared say dangerous, showing a side he would never expect from someone who had spent a lifetime being underestimated.
He had underestimated her himself, he could see that now, and maybe that was a big mistake of his, thinking that he could destroy her defenses by hitting her where she hurt most.
For she did not have the name Stark, but she definitely had the spirit of a she-wolf.
"The proper course is clear: Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his." Ser Wendel Manderly suggested during the council that was held later that night. Despite everyone being affected by Ned Stark's death, despite the mourning state of his son and successor, his wife and his daughter, they needed to proceed now that everything was in the balance. From a march south to free Lord Stark and his two other daughters, their mission had changed to a wish to avenge their lord and prove to Joffrey and those loyal to him that they would not let this injustice and tragedy pass.
"Renly is not the King." Robb objected, evoking some murmurs of agreement between his men. Even if they refused to swear fealty to Joffrey and his little brother Prince Tommen after him, the late King Robert's younger brother wasn't next in the line of succession, since there were others with bigger right to the Iron Throne.
"You can not mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord. He put your father to death!"
"That doesn't make Renly King!" Robb calmly explained. "He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be King before Stannis!"
"Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?" Ser Wendel wanted to know, sounding as if he strongly disagreed with the idea, for reasons unknown to Deana, since she didn't know much about the other two Baratheon brothers.
"Renly is not right!" another voice was heard, siding with Robb's argument that they should join Stannis' forces.
"If we put ourselves behind Stannis—"
"How large is Stannis' army and military strength?" Deana asked, also agreeing with Robb that Robert's older brother was the one they should support in his claim to be King of the Seven Kingdoms—but before anyone could answer her, Jon Umber stood up and addressed everyone present.
"My lords! Here is what I say to these two Kings!" he bellowed and spit on the ground to show his unwillingness to join either Stannis or Renly; his comment was met with laughter and approving exclamations. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither! Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood?"
That's right! No matter their right to the throne or their military strength, they only consider the North as part of the Seven Kingdoms without actually knowing it. They haven't lived there, they haven't experienced its unforgiving land and the dangers that lie there, nor have they heard about the threats lurking beyond the Wall, Deana thought and found herself nodding, for Osha's warnings had not left her mind. They do not know what it is like.
"Even their Gods are wrong!" the Greatjon continued and a new round of mocking laughter followed, although both Robb and Deana threw a concerned look towards Lady Catelyn, who believed in the Seven Gods as a woman raised by the southern House Tully; the auburn-haired woman, despite looking annoyed, kept her composure and didn't say anything. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the Dragons we bowed to and now the Dragons are dead!"
House Targaryen…the House that ruled for centuries before their elimination in Robert's Rebellion…when Jaime Lannister slew the Mad King and Robert himself butchered Prince Rhaegar in the Battle of the Trident, Deana recalled the countless times she had heard the stories about this series of events that had occurred mere months before her birth. Her thoughts, though, were interrupted when she flinched at the sound of Lord Umber unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Robb.
"There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee to. The King in the North!" he cried out before kneeling in front of Robb, holding his sword in front of him as a sign of great respect, loyalty and oath to stand by his side as bannerman.
Robb stood up, tall compared to his seated mother and sister, now having an aura of something dark and majestic, like a true Northern. It was clear he did not expect that, Deana could see it in his eyes that travelled around before settling on her; she nodded encouragingly and gave him a proud smile, for Lord Umber had showed them their true course from now on; why should someone who did not know the North, who hadn't fought for the North, actually rule the North and not someone who was born in the region?
"I'll have peace on those terms," another man agreed while standing up as well and others followed suit, including Ser Rodrik. "They can keep their Red Castle and their Iron Chair too! The King in the North!" he declared, also stabbing his sword to the ground and kneeling in front of Robb.
Deana couldn't hold back anymore. Watching all those men willingly announcing her brother as King in the North, something that hadn't happened since Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen, filled her with energy and pride and she jumped on her feet as everyone turned towards her. "You asked me to come with you, to fight for the North, and I followed you willingly," she spoke to him and Robb returned her gaze with gratefulness and brotherly care. "I have no sword to lay at your feet, nor soldiers to pledge at your service, but I will fight for you, always!"
"I am proud and honored to have you here. You are my blood, my sister and that you will always be." Robb promised her and not only the rest of the men were surprised by his declaration, but also Deana herself; Robb had always protected and cared for her, but to so openly addressing her as 'kin', as 'sister' and not as 'half-sister' was a very bold move from his side.
"Then there is only one King I shall bow to! And that is the King in the North, not some southern who thinks has a right to meddle in our affairs!" she announced proudly, bending her knees in a low curtsey, showing her loyalty to him as family and as a warrior fighting for him.
"Am I your brother, now and always?" Theon was the one who spoke next, seeing all men willingly declaring the North as an independent kingdom and the man with whom he had grown up as their true leader.
"Now and always."
"My sword is yours, in victory and defeat," Theon said as he knelt down, "from this day until my last day."
"The King in the North!" Jon Umber cried out solemnly and everyone started repeating the words like a chant, all of the remaining lords and soldiers kneeling down with their swords.
"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"
Robb looked back at his mother, who smiled at him, seeing her son for the man he had become and who would always be her child, her boy. And for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile appeared on Robb's face, the newly-declared King mentally vowing to live up to his soldiers and his family's trust in him.
When the bannermen retreated in their tents for the night and Lady Catelyn took her leave with a grim expression on her face, Robb and Deana stayed seated for a moment, both processing this turn of events. It was something unexpected; from a discussion whether they should join Renly or Stannis to a loyal lord's announcement that he would not bend the knee to them, since he only recognized the King in the North as his ruler. Deana could imagine how Robb felt: if becoming Lord of Winterfell had matured him abruptly, being responsible for the North's independence was surely overwhelming for him, so she simply placed a hand on his shoulder and waited for him to speak.
"I didn't ask for this, you know." Robb softly admitted, knowing that he could trust his sister with his fears and worries. "But I promise you, I won't make any of you regret your decision, since this is your wish."
"I know, Robb," she smiled at him. "Believe me, this fear of yours? This is exactly the reason why you will be a great ruler…a wonderful King, the only one I will swear my allegiance to."
"It means a lot, hearing it from you," he replied, briefly caressing her hair; his mother hated Deana, he knew that, but he could see so much of House Stark in her, in her brown hair and the dark grey eyes, the trademark northern appearance, in her stubbornness, in her will to fight, in the loyalty she displayed. "I do not mean to abuse the responsibilities and the duties that come with being King in the North…but I think I can grant you and Jon a gift."
"Me and Jon?" Deana gasped, eyes widening and her breath becoming uneven…could he mean…? "Robb, what are you talking about?"
"Enough with being taunted as bastards! Enough with being mocked at only because of how you were born! Enough with people judging you without seeing your true character. It is time for you and Jon to be named Stark, like you deserve!"
A/: Sooo, that was it for now, my friends :) Hope you liked the chapter, the next one will be written and posted ASAP :D
