Robb POV

The others had wanted to put the she-wolf and her pups out of their misery, especially Theon. But he and Bran protested, and when father didn't waver in his decision Lyarra jumped in to. With her solemn face and doe eyes. She reasoned that the direwolf and her pups were the sigil of House Stark, and excluding herself, said that they were meant to have them. "What about you Lyarra? Will you not take one for yourself?," his father asked.

"I'm not a Stark," she responded softly.

That was until she spotted the smallest one of them all. The runt of the litter, it was an albino as well, with ruby red eyes, the only one with opened eyes. And she loved it regardless and cradled the little thing in her arms like a babe.

Father had ordered Theon to retrieve a sleigh, to carry the she-wolf back on. The stags antler nearly penetrated her throat and she had a long cut along her neck, but it was nothing the maester couldn't stitch and heal. Father started smoothing the wolf's fur, forming a sort of affection for her.

Father had forbade his children to go near the pups and their mother until she healed and her litter grew. There was seven pups, the last one a mix of white and grey fur with hazel eyes. He wondered who that one would go to. That had been a week ago.

Her smile had been so pretty, when she held her pup in her arms. He wishes she would smile at him again. He thought on that smile, as he ran his fingers across the blade he had forged for her name day. He wonders if she ever thinks about it, if she ever wants to ask for it. The morning after that night, when she woke in his bed, she didn't even bother to grab it or any of her other belongings for that fact. Such as her dress, which he still had in his dresser and her pretty necklace with the winter rose. She'd just hastily gotten up and left. Left. She was always leaving him or trying to get away from him. The thought made him grip the pommel of the sword before getting up from his mattress and marching out his chamber. He was tired of this, tired of the silence they gave each other and most of all, tired of the coldness he felt inside. They needed to talk. They are going to talk, he'll make sure of it.

He doesn't even bother knocking, he just walks in, slamming the door behind him. Her eyes are wide with shock as she looks at him, before going sullen. Her body is tense as she sits on the edge of her bed.

"You're leaving?," he asks her, voice dark and low, it almost comes out in a raspy whisper.

She looks down at her hands as if they're the most intriguing thing in the world, before simply nodding her head, curls falling in her face. "Yes. I-" he cuts her off before she can finish.

"Why?" It's more of a statement than a question.

She sighs before saying "The king is coming to Winterfell."

His anger turns into confusion, "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

She ignores him and continues " The hand of the king is dead and the king is coming to Winterfell. What do you think it means Robb?" she asked rhetorically. "Father and King Robert were close friends when they were younger. So, it means that the king plans to name father hand. Meaning father won't be here anymore, meaning I can't be here anymore." She stated flatly.

"What about me?" he asked incredulous.

"What about you?"

He looks at her in disbelief, "I'll still be here, Lyarra. As long as I'm here you'll have a place at Winterfell,"

She seems to consider it for amount, before shaking her head,"Lady Stark will not have me. Besides, what am I to do here? What is the purpose of me being here?"

"What's the purpose of you being there? The Mormont's aren't your family and Bear Island isn't your home. The Stark's are your family and Winterfell is your home.". Her eye's seemed to darken after that.

"Really? If that's the case, then why was I sent away in the first place? If Winterfell is my home, Robb?."

He doesn't know how to respond so he stays silent for a moment, before starting again "Despite everything, Lya, we love you. Father loves you. I-I love you. And I've missed you so much." He looks into her eyes "Please, don't leave me." his voice cracks a little. He slowly walks toward her, and she eyes him with suspicion. He tries to pretend that doesn't hurt. He stands in front of her, then he bends down to kiss her forehead and cups her cheek with his hand, looking into her eyes.

Her eyes turn hard as steel and cold as winter, "Love me,Robb? You don't even know me, not truly. I haven't seen or talked to you in five years, and six moons isn't going to make up for that. Not when even before that you distanced yourself from me. You only noticed your little sister when you noticed how fuckable she was."

His hand flinches away, as if he'd just been burnt by her skin. He slowly backs away from her. Words couldn't describe what he felt at the moment. He looked at the sword in his hand before tracing his fingers above it once more then dropping it on the floor.

The dark cloud that seemed to hover over her went away, as she eyed it. Before looking back up to him, eyes remorseful.

"Robb I-" but he didn't even give her a chance to finish, he was already out the door.