EDITED VERSION POSTED IN MARCH 2021
NOTE: Hello everyone!
So, as announced, this is the edited version of my story THE WOLF Queen. I started editing it on the original post but realized that it was going to be very difficult if I kept on like that so I decided to stop what I was doing and start to publish again on another story. Once the editing is done I will remove the old version so there will be only this one.
The first three chapters will be the same ones I posted on the old version and we will continue from there. If you are new and have no idea of what I am babbling about, don't mind me, welcome!
As you will certainly notice, it changed a lot. I found that reading it sometime after having it posted, once it wasn't so fresh in my mind, it was actually very hard to read. It was long and very disturbing compared to the rest of the story, as I had chosen to put it in the first-person point of view. This is not the best idea I ever had to be honest...
Especially when you think this was the very first chapter and the first impression anyone was going to have of the story... So I changed it.
Now, the serious part: I plan on trying to publish at least once a month, with the edited chapters. As you can imagine, editing the entire thing (which is over 200K words at this point... insane) is very long and very hard especially when I see the number of chapters I need to cut in halves to have it more bearable and interesting. I try to work as fast as possible but it's a struggle.
Someone also asked me if it was going to be necessary to read the edited version when I'll finally post the second book. I think not, I only plan to really change or add a couple of scenes, but if it occurs that there is a part I have changed that is important for the plot of the future books, I will tell you in the author notes don't worry.
Anyway, there it is so... enjoy, I guess?
See you on the other side!
"Can you help me? I'm too small and Jon is laughing when I ask!"
"How did you even do that?"
"I don't know! The wind blows very strong!"
"That's no excuse!"
"Please Kyria! Help me! You're taller! Sansa will be annoying if she knows about it!"
"Because it's hers?!"
"Kyria!"
"Alright, alright… Oh wow, the wind is strong up there!"
"Hurry! I think someone is coming!"
"Ah!"
KYRIA!
CHAPTER 1: What happened?
The eighth month of the year 296 A.C
?
Pain.
It was the first thing she ever remembered. Binding, astonishing pain pulsing out of her head like a storm against the glass of a window.
Everything was dark and fuzzy. There were sounds and movements and flashes of lights blinding behind her closed eyes.
But most of all there was pain.
Then, after a time, and even more pain, she burned. From the inside. A raging fire eating every last piece of her, destroying what was left of whatever it was inside her. Until there was nothing but more pain and anguish.
Nothing made sense. Not the pain or the heat. Or noises or voices.
The voices...
At first, they were so small she didn't even notice it. But they grew louder and louder. So loud
that they were part of the pain.
Voices. Talking again, and again. And flashes of light. And voices.
Voices….
TRAITOR!
Kill them!
Kill them all!
I did warn you not to trust me.
WHERE ARE THEY?!
When you play the Game of Thrones, you win, or you die.
Bring me his head!
For the Watch
For the W- You will fight their battle forever. For the-
STOP HIM!
I swear! By Fire and Blood, I will take it!
KING IN THE NORTH!
We Need To Speak LOUDER!
We are all liars here.
If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention.
Burn them! Burn them All!
STOP HIM! STOP!
The Lannisters sends their regards
He's a monster...
Arrest him! HE DID IT!
WATCH!
Dracarys
BURN THEM ALL!
STOP HIM! STOP!
Snake pick.
PLEASE STOP!
STOP!
STOP HIM! MERCY PLEASE!
Kyria!
KYRIA!
It lasted for days. Weeks. An eternity of pain and despair and heat and darkness. And Voices. There were flashes too. Light and colors and things sometimes. Strange things.
It lasted and lasted endlessly. Until nothing else existed.
Then, suddenly, she realized there was nothing else. Only darkness. The voices disappeared. The sounds disappeared. Even the pain wasn't as intense as before.
She could feel other things. Exhaustion. The heat of the furs. The softness of the sheets. The cold water on her face. The pressure around her head.
Suddenly, she was more than pain. She had a body. She was someone.
She was someone yes. It led her to a question. The most important one.
Who am I?
She had no answer to that…
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Her name was Kyria Stark.
She was two and ten. Soon to be three and ten. A girl of the noble House of the Stark, who had ruled the North for thousands of years. Since the very beginning of Westeros, the Ages of Heroes and the very first Kings who ever ruled those lands. Her father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, was the Warden of the North, and the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms apparently. Her mother, Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully, had been known as a true lady and a great figure who despite her origins successfully cut herself a place in the harsh North. Apparently.
She was Kyria Stark of Winterfell.
It was the old Maester who told her all of this. Maester Luwin, he was called. A kind man with a kind voice and an even kinder face. He said other things, but the fever that plagued her made it difficult to remember much from his long discussions.
She liked the sound of his voice. She guessed it would be nice to have a lesson with someone who had such a voice. But the truth was, as he talked and talked about all of it, it was another speech that rang inside her head.
He told her of her family. She heard of strangers. He enumerates her siblings, she thought of the loss they had to endure. A loss they did not know yet. He told her how clever she was, how eager to learn, she heard the plea for all of it to come back. The plea for her to adapt. To melt into what she used to be. To heal.
Except she didn't know how to heal. She was sick, yes, with the fever and the wound on her head, the very same that every morning, the Maester took great care of cleaning and dressing carefully.
All of his explanations, stories, and anecdotes only meant one thing to her.
She was Kyria Stark yes. But she was not. Because as much as he told her of her life, she couldn't remember.
Most of the time she chose to stay silent.
One day, maybe a sennight after she first "awakened" without her memories, her fever disappeared completely, and Maester Luwin called her healthy enough for her family to visit her.
From then on, started the endless parade of faces she was supposed to know.
First, her mother. With eyes full of tears and a watery smile on a beautiful face. She held Kyria's hands with such carefulness and reverence. It made her want to take it away. She kept stroking the thin skin on the back of the hand, staring silently for long moments. Just watching. Kyria knew she was supposed to feel something. But there was nothing. The face remained unknown.
Her mother told her how good she had been as a little girl, not the perfect lady like her little sister but good. Gentle and comforting for her siblings. She told her of the birth of her little brothers, how she had been the first one to hold them after her parents.
Kyria heard the awkwardness of it all. How she couldn't remember her sister or her brothers, how she didn't know how it felt to have a newborn baby in her arms.
The older brother told her of their childhood. How they used to do everything together. How people thought them, twins. How alike they looked.
She only heard of the distance. The past tense of his words. The loneliness that might have resulted from him growing and taking his place as heir of their father's seat. The rejection, the pain of losing what she had. And with all of it, the empty beats of her heart reminded her of those feelings she didn't have. She heard the distress in his changing voice, at the mere idea of the girl she used to be. That girl who might never come back.
The little sister happily chirped about Kyria's perfection, how pretty she was and well-behaved like a true lady. She sounded like the Maiden reborn while their other sister was described as some kind of disgraceful creature unworthy of the noble birth she had been gifted with. She frowned prettily and Kyria heard all she needed to hear to understand the rest. Beyond adoration, Kyria thought of the déception that would birth her situation.
When the girl chirped about beauty and long curled hair, Kyria touched her head, covered with the cloth that protected her wound, and thought of the hole she had there, in the middle of those long curly hair.
The other little sister didn't come much. She saw her once, with large tearful eyes, mumbling about the Godswoods and the Wind and something being her fault.
Kyria heard the accident that caused her loss, the pain that was her world before that, and found herself unable to watch the little girl's tears.
It was an odd feeling. She was mad, angry at what had been stolen from her, at the situation she was in. All this confusion, this fear of not being able to be Kyria Stark anymore.
For who was Kyria Stark?
But at the same time, there was this little girl drowned by the guilt she shouldn't feel. Kyria had seen how small she was. How tiny and young. She couldn't have stretched all the way to her head to hit it with a rock. And for her skull to break as it did, the hit had been strong.
No this little girl on her own couldn't have done that to her. Not willingly. Which could only mean an accident.
She wouldn't blame a little girl for an accident.
But still. Denying the pain and the confusion that still plagued her would be foolish. She couldn't help but resent that girl. There was a part of her that resented the girl with her restrained tears, on the verge of crying in front of her while Kyria didn't even know what to mourn of that life she didn't know.
The little ones were the easiest to enjoy. Bran and Rickon. Rickon was still so little, and Bran, if older, didn't seem to have the same approach to her. For them, she was still the same, with or without memories. Rickon was her favorite. He only bothered with her presence, not what she could remember.
Seeing them was easier than with the others.
Then there was Father. Father was different. She couldn't say why. But something was different.
Eddard Stark.
He didn't come often. When he did, he never talked much. He sat in a corner of her bed and watched her with kind eyes. Sometimes a calloused hand would slowly touch her chin. Like she was a precious thing.
There was something about him. Something safe. Kyria had no idea how he did it, but he seemed to know what she needed. She truly noticed it the first time he came to her while she was on a very bad day.
Her head was throbbing, hard and loud. Like her brain was about to burst out of her skull. When Eddard Stark entered the room, he saw immediately the pain in her face.
Like always he didn't say a word. Slowly, he closed the heavy curtains around the window of her chamber. Then he sat behind her, against the head of the bed, and pulled her curled form against his large chest. His big hand soon covered both her eyes and he stayed with her, silent and immobile.
It was like someone had switched something inside Kyria. The restlessness she felt constantly shut down into a low rumble on the back of her brain. The sudden silence was so foreign her ears whistled a moment.
She fell asleep, engulfed in this addicting feeling of being safe. It made her hope. Maybe, just maybe, losing her memories wouldn't cost her a family.
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"Will she ever recover Maester?"
The kind man took his time to answer. Kyria stayed put, keeping her breath as even as possible. They didn't know she was awake. She would have rather kept it that way.
She was still curled on Eddard Stark's laps, his massive hand now slowly stroking her head. She could feel the motion of his breath slow and steady against her cheek.
"A wound on the head is very hard to diagnose. And to heal." answered the Maester slowly.
"What is this supposed to mean?"
Again, he took his time to answer. The hand on Kyria's head moved slowly. The cloth scratched the swollen skin under it. Kyria felt her finger twitch. She wanted to scratch it too. But her need to hear what was to say about her situation was stronger.
"The wound itself would resorb soon by now. Fortunately, the skull wasn't truly damaged and I can now safely say she is out of danger. "
"Oh thank the Seven!" gasped Lady Catelyn.
"However…"
Kyria waited for the rest, but it didn't come. However what? He was talking about her memories, she knew it. Or he was about to talk about it. What did he want to say?
"What? However what?"
The voice, deeper and lower than the ladies vibrated through Kyria. Father.
"I am sorry to say that but.." the Maester paused again, and Kyria already knew what he was about to say. "There is no guarantee for the young lady Kyria to ever recover her memories."
The Lady of the keep gasped, a strangled moan cracking through her careful control, and the hand on Kyria's head stopped. She felt the muscles of her face twitch with the need to grimace. There you go.
"What do you mean? Is there anything we could do?" pressed the lady.
There was silence again, and a tired sigh. Kyria guessed it was from the old man.
"The head is a very difficult area to heal, or even understand," he started slowly. " There have been several cases of wounds on the head with the consequences similar to what we have here," he pauses, and Kyria had to greet her teeth to stop the need to speak up, "Sometimes the wounded lose all memories of his past. Other times it's what comes after the accident that is forgotten. And in some cases, it's everything."
Kyria felt the shiver of fear icing the room run right through her. Everything? Was she going to forget everything? Like, every moment of every day?
"The young lady Kyria appears to be part of the first category. But, as I said, there is no guarantee. She could wake up one day with everything back, or never have them back, or remembering slowly, bit by bit. I can not say precisely what will happen."
"We know nothing then…" lamented the lady, voicing his daughter's thoughts.
The massive chest under Kyria purred with Lord Stark's acknowledgment.
"Thank you Maester that will be all," he said softly.
After a moment, the old man's chains sang his exit of the room, leaving only the Lord and Lady of the keep. And Kyria.
The lady made a strangled sob, hidden behind her hands certainly.
Kyria didn't know what to think. She stayed curled on the Lord's laps, slowly processing the last information.
She might never have them back. Her memories. Was she condemned to spend the rest of her life wondering who she was?
She couldn't live like that. Always incertain, always scared of doing or saying the wrong thing. She couldn't do that…
Who am I?
They said she was Kyria Stark. But she didn't feel like Kyria Stark. She didn't know this girl, she had no idea how to be this girl. Kyria Stark was just another unknown face in the sea of strangers surrounding her every day. Strangers she had to call family.
"She can't stay like that…" moaned the lady. "What if she never remembers? What will happen then? Tell me, Ned, what will happen?"
The question was hard to hear. But true. What was supposed to happen to her if she didn't remember who she was? What was she supposed to do?
The Lord spoke again, Kyria felt her eyes flush against the skin of her cheeks.
"We will learn to know her again, and love her for who she is," he said slowly.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? She had no idea who she was.
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"Are you alright Kyria?"
It was maybe two days after the Maester's final diagnosis. She couldn't be sure. Days and nights blended in Kyria's room. In a bed, she couldn't leave. Where the smallest walk to the closest chamber pot was the great adventure of the day. Where the bath they allowed her every few days felt like traveling on another continent.
Everything was small and slow. It was the world she lived in and all she knew. Her entire universe resumed to this single room, with that door which sometimes blessed her with a visitor.
And here he was, with his large eyes and that same question. They kept saying she looked like him, but sometimes, Kyria hopes her pleading eyes weren't as….puppying as Robb Stark's. He did have a talent in the department.
She wondered what she was supposed to say to him. How she was supposed to answer this question. Was she alright? She couldn't say.
"I don't know."
The brother's face crumbled with disappointment. It lasted only a moment, but she had seen it. He was becoming good at hiding it. But she had seen the first one, she would certainly see them all. She was looking for them after all.
She wondered what he would say if he knew of Maester Luwin's diagnosis.
"Do you…" he said slowly, with hesitation, "Do you remember anything?"
Ah, yes, there was this one too. The other question.
Kyria blinked slowly, focalized in the crushing hope in this boy's eyes. He looked young, hopeful, and bright. Anger bubbled inside her. She wanted to crush this hope. To shake him until it disappeared. She wanted to break it. So she wouldn't feel so damaged next to this perfect little lordling.
So she wouldn't feel like what she was, whatever she was, wasn't enough for him. Or anyone else.
"Maester Luwin says I may never remember." she blurted, looking for his eyes, for the hope inside to die.
A part of her should feel bad. She wanted to hurt him after all. To take his hope from him. But she couldn't help it. As nice and gentle as he was with her and as much as she could understand why Kyria Stark used to love this boy, she was not Kyria Stark. Not anymore. Not like before. She was someone else now. She couldn't remember being Kyria Stark.
She wanted to crush that hope. Because it reminded her of how impossible it was for her to be Kyria Stark without her memories.
And as much as he wished it, it wasn't her he wanted to look at. It was the person she used to be.
But what was even worse, was that even though she wished he could look at her without expecting something else, she didn't even know what she wanted him to see!
Who am I?
It worked. In a way. Robb Stark's face was twisted. Confused. Hope and denial fighting behind those blue eyes.
"You may never have your sister again," she added crudely. "Only me."
It felt good, in a twisted sense of the term, to finally be able to voice what had haunted her since he first showed up.
She would have been blind not to see the way he eagerly waited for his sister to emerge from her. But now it might never, and confronted by his lack of answers, she carried on.
"No need to keep coming here Robb Stark… you can stop looking for her."
He blinked a couple of times and Kyria waited for him to move.
"I don't understand… you are my sister. Why would I stop coming?" he asked slowly.
Something squeezed inside her chest and she abruptly laid under the furs.
"I wish to sleep now," she said in a strangled voice.
She turned her back on him, unable to support his sight right now. There was something on the edge of her perception, a pressure that begged to be released. She held it tight inside her. She curled and pressed her fist against her chest. To keep it locked inside.
"Kyria… I- You are my sister," he said again. "I don't wish for anyone else to take your place."
But she was not, wasn't she? If she was, he wouldn't be hoping like that every time he came to her.
She kept her mouth shut, refusing to even acknowledge the boy behind her. After a while, he shifted on his chair, and Kyria pressed her eyes harder.
"I know… I understand how- how difficult it must be for you. I wish- I wish I could help you. But- But I don't want you to change. You- You don't need to. Maybe you are not like before, but if you never come back to how you were before it's alright. I won't be mad. I'll still protect you. Like my sister."
Kyria didn't answer. After another moment, a hand awkwardly patted her back, the warmth sending shivers down Kyria's back. I was strange.
She didn't want to feel it.
The boy sighed and left the room. Her tears were burning against the cold skin of her cheeks.
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When she was alone, at night, she remembered the pain that started it all. The fever, the confusion. The voices.
Sometimes it felt like they were still here. Like they never really left her. She thought it was the fever that clouded her head. But fever dreams never lasted that long in the mind. And they certainly were not as vivid and fresh even weeks after.
Sometimes, in the dead of the night, she wondered if the reason why she could still hear them so clearly was that they never really stopped.
It was frightening.
If you thought this had a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention.
Frightening.
At least she didn't dream. Thank the gods for small mercies.
One day, a couple of days after Maester's Luwin diagnosis and her discussion with Robb, her door opened. She was rolled on a side, her back on the door so she did not see who was coming. Nor did she really care. She didn't want to see anyone. She was sick of the looks and the hope and all the expectations that she might maybe remember today.
It was exhausting. Even worse since the news had fallen and everyone knew she might never be like before.
She didn't bother turning around. Her head was throbbing and she was in no mood to suffer everything that was thrown at her.
She waited for the footsteps, for the questions or the doubts. Or worse, hope.
Nothing happened.
Her breath caught her throat. She waited, listening silently, for any sign of another presence.
Nothing. Turning around would have been easy. She was curious. She wanted to know.
But turning would have been to acknowledge the outside world was more than just annoying noise. She didn't want that. She was fine in her ignorance.
Except nothing happened. So maybe he had left.
Kyria stayed perfectly silent, holding even her breath. There was definitely someone there with her. The sound of another breathing was hard to miss in complete silence.
Slowly, she moved. One leg, one deep breath. To mimic sleep. She pressed her eyes closed and slowly moved her head, so the majority of her face would be hidden by the pillow.
She stayed there a moment, wondering why she even bothered with all of this instead of just turning and talking. It was childish to act like that, but she didn't want to talk or act any other way.
She was childish. Sue her.
She waited a moment more, then slowly opened up one eye.
There was nothing right in her proximity. The chair next to her bed was empty, and the door was closed. Maybe she had been wrong? Maybe there was no one and she was just imagining things. Maybe she was losing her mind.
It wouldn't be the first time she thought about it.
Just as she was ready to sit up, something moved by the window.
"Kyria?"
She didn't know that voice. She didn't know it but- A cold shiver ran through her back, freezing her right on the bed.
For the Watch-
For the North!
I choose the North!
You know nothing…
We have no choice!
The enemy is coming. He brings the Storm!
I will protect you I promise…
You know nothing…
...Jon Snow
There was a boy by the window. With heavily curled dark hair and a smooth round face. He looked like Robb. A little. Those dark grey eyes were definitely like Father.
Promise me…
You have to protect him!
"Kyria?"
He had a soft, quiet voice. It seemed to hesitate between the high pitch of a child and the deepest tone of an adult.
There was something about him…. It unnerved her. It moved something inside her head. Something unpleasant.
She sat up without thinking. The throbbing in her heart started again, more vicious than before.
"Are you… Are you alright?"
She blinked, momentarily blinded by the pain inside her head, and looked up.
You know nothing, Jon Snow
"Who are you?"
Unsurprisingly, he reacted like the others. He shifted and something closed up in his eyes. Kyria did not try to swallow the frustration this time.
"Doesn't matter. I don't remember you either," she said dismissively, turning away from him.
She was in no mood to suffer this right now.
"I- I am…" he tried again, "I was… My name-"
She turned around again, curious. He had moved from the window, his face lowered to the floor, like a guilty child. Or someone used to be invisible.
She was tempted to ask what was that about all this bumbling, but stayed silent, more curious to see what he was trying to say.
He quickly looked at her, then looked back down, when he noticed she was looking at him too. Then his chest puffed a little and he straightened his back.
"I don't think they told you about me," he started again with much less hesitation this time. "I am- I'm Jon Snow."
Oh, there it is. An explanation. Snow.
"You are a bastard," she said.
He flinched.
He shrugged, a self-depressing smile painted on his face.
"You were always smart."
Kyria felt something twig inside her chest. Like every time someone talks about the " before".
"Why are you coming now?"
He shrugged again. She waited for more.
"I- Robb said… He said you may never remember… I- I thought I needed to come here and- Introduce myself I guess."
Introduce himself...Well, that was a new one.
Surprised, Kyria watched him move awkwardly on his feet. She didn't know how to answer that…
"Introduce yourself?"
He nodded.
"I thought- We all know you but- For you it's different, I think… So I thought maybe I could do something like that- Introduce myself so- you know so you can learn to know me better."
It was odd and simple at the same time. Kyria felt her shoulder drop, with relief. It felt like it at least. For someone to say that to her…
It felt good.
"Thank you, Jon."
Jon smiled. He had a sad smile, even happy, the corner of his lips was pointing down.
He stayed with Kyria for a good hour, the two of them quietly trying to understand one another. It was nice, a good change from the usually tensed silences and awkward questions. But then Kyria's head started to hurt again and Jon left the room.
He must have talked about it to the others. On the morrow, it was Robb who came, with a small smile and a just as soft conversation. He was a bit tenser and maybe their last discussion had something to do with it, but he looked calm and less hopeful than before. He was treating her like a new acquaintance. She could have been upset by it, but it felt good. She wasn't the old Kyria anymore, it felt good not to be treated this way.
She spent a good afternoon with Robb. Finally, she could see him for him, and not just the brother of the person she was before. He was an intelligent lad, with a lot of ideas about a lot of things and very few who could really hold the road. He sounded hopeful when he talked about his future role, but to Kyria it all sounded too good. She did not want to upset him again so she kept her mouth shut, but from what she understood, being Lord of Winterfell was much harder than what he was saying.
"You like it, don't you?" she said slowly.
Robb shrugged self-consciously.
"I think I do. I have been prepared all my life to be the next Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North… I like it when it's just Father and me. He has so many things to tell me all the time, about so many subjects...It's like- I don't know, with Father I feel like I become a man a little bit more every day."
She nodded, understanding the meaning behind the confused words. He looked back at her, a crooked smile on his face.
"What?"
"No it's- I know you don't like when we talk about that but-" he bit his lip, hesitation clear on his face. "I don't say that to make you uncomfortable or anything like that but- When we were small, you and I- and Jon too…" Kyria felt her fingernails pressed against her palm, " we used to be together all the time. Every day. We were always together. Mother hated that. She wanted you to be a lady like Sansa but you never were. Not completely. Not like Sansa."
He stopped, looking to her face as if searching for something. She waited for the usual feeling of wrongness, the weight in her throat. But nothing came. Only curiosity.
He didn't seem to look for the memory in her eyes, he was telling her the memory like she was someone else. Like she hadn't lived them.
For her, she had not.
"Go on," she said softly.
Robb smiled.
"We were always together, all the time," he said again. "We were small and you did not have your long hair yet so it was easy for everyone to confound us. It was funny how many people thought we were twins."
She felt a smile grow on her face at the picture he painted. Longing to. But she chose to ignore it, preferring to concentrate on the present time, and the sweet story he was telling her.
"But one day, closely after my seventh name day, Father started to train me to the role I will have to play. I had private lessons with him for at least one hour per day." he smiled again, that crooked smile who seemed so fond and tender, "You were furious. Because I had lessons you had not and because I was alone with Father for hours while you had to stay with the little ones. You cried and begged to come with me. You wanted to be a grown-up like me, you even cried, you wanted to be a boy so we could have the same lessons."
She chuckled. It was cute. He smiled again, nostalgic maybe.
"I remember you being so angry at Mother for birthing you like a girl… It must have been the only time you ever threw a tantrum. You were always so quiet, so calm, we were all so surprised you could pull out such a high-pitched voice without strangling yourself."
They laughed for a moment, happy to share something like this and for one, wonderful second, Kyria thought it would all be alright. That everything would solve itself and nothing would go wrong.
It did not last.
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Something is hot. Above her head. Hot and bright and blinding. She blinked, but everything was so white. Like she stood in the middle of the sun.
Her feet are bare and the floor is just as hot, burning the soil of her feet. But she can not move. She is stuck, surrounded by light and nothing else and she has no idea what is happening.
There are voices around. Whispers in the nothing. She can't understand a word for the life of her but she can hear them. Many voices whispering in the light.
Kyria…
They grow louder and somehow some are saying her name. Or what sounds like it at least. The light is brighter somehow. Glowing and glowing and glowing to the point she has to close her eyes.
But it glows still. Harder and brighter with every breath so much she tries to stop breathing, maybe the light will stop with it.
But it does not. It keeps on glowing. Even with her eyes closed, it's as bright as the sun on a good day.
The floor. She kept thinking about the floor. Dry. Dry and burning hot. And- fragile? Like snow but- thinner, warmer.
Kyria…
What is happening?
TRAITOR
The light burst around her, brightening even more before disappearing like it was never there.
TRAITOR!
KILL HIM!
TRAITOR!
TRAITOR TO THE CROWN!
KILL HIM!
KILL THE TRAITOR!
They come from everywhere. All around her. The light is gone. She is somewhere instead. Somewhere else.
Something pushes her and she takes a step forward to steady herself. She pushed again. The third time she has to look up.
Blank faces. White bodies with blank faces. Everywhere. All around her. White and naked with nothing but the silhouette of the body. Small, tall, thin, big…
She screams. She screams and tries to getaway.
But they were everywhere.
TRAITOR!
KILL THE TRAITOR!
What is that? What is happening?
TRAITOR!
KILL HIM, YOUR GRACE!
KILL HIM!
MERCY!
KILL THE TRAITOR!
TRAITOR TO THE CROWN!
One voice is louder than any other. But it takes some time for the others to stop. It's agonizing and half broke. Eventually, they shut up.
The silence is worse. Her heart is loud inside her ribcage and she is scared. Scared to look up. I don't want to see it. I don't want to see it!
But she does.
Look up.
There are other things on top of the rest. Standing in some kind of platform. Or stairs. Or something else she can not tell. In the middle of all silhouettes, there is something large and imposing. The silence is deafening.
A light flash in Kyria's eyes. She is close to them.
Then open again. And she sees it all. The crowd of silhouettes blank and white and faceless all turned in her direction. They have no eyes but she can feel them looking at her. Piercing her with the intensity of it.
Her nails are piercing her skin. She wants to scream again. But the silence is deafening.
Why?
What is happening?
"...As we sin, so do we suffer…"
What?
Who is talking? Where? How? No one as a mouth. No one but her.
"... what shall be done with this traitor?"
One of them moves in front of her. Something flashes in her eyes and this time she sees it. Gold. Gold everywhere.
Gold and huge teeth, shining under the light and cut like fangs.
Kyria is horrified. The monster moves and she steps back. But there is a silhouette behind her and she can't move further. She's forced to watch the monster with his white teeth shiny and somehow as clear as glass. He seemed to smile.
"BRING ME HIS HEAD!"
Chaos. Noises bursting around, everywhere, silhouettes move around crawling like insects, and the monster is happy. It moves around like a child. Its voice is young and nasal and squeaking like the joints of an old door.
One of the things kneels and cries horrified. A large sword coming out of nowhere descent on him like the shadow of the Stranger himself. Before she can even scream the head is cut clean. Right above the shoulders.
The other things rejoice and scream even louder. Kyria can't take it anymore. She tries to cover her ears. As if they saw her doing it they scream again. As if they saw her doing it they screamed again, inside her head this time.
"STOP IT!" she says.
They ignore her. So she screams too, thinking maybe if her voice is loud enough she can cover the voices.
It doesn't work.
Someone laughs somewhere and the monster squeals again, flashing his glass teeth above her head.
There are screams above the screams, they sound far away but she can hear them too.
She screamed again and opened her eyes.
The head is still rolling. Rolling and rolling on the floor and she realizes with horror it rolls toward her. Closer and closer.
She can't take her eyes off it. It keeps rolling closer.
"No, don't!" she begs.
It keeps rolling.
Then it stops. She is relieved. For a blissful moment. Then she realized. The blank face has a face. It's right in front of her, the tip soiling her dress, her feet. The white of it tinted red. Everywhere. And the face is looking at her, dead revulsed eyes looking right at her. Accusing her. Judging her.
And she knows that face.
Pale skin, dark hair. Dark hair, dark hair, dark hair, grey eyes. Lifeless eyes.
She knows that face.
No.
TRAITOR!
No.
KILL THE TRAITOR!
KILL HIM!
BRING ME HIS HEAD!
No, please no.
NO! PLEASE STOP HIM!
Kyria?
TRAITOR!
"Father…?"
Kyria!
STOP IT! STOP!
KILL HIM!
No. No. No, no no! No!
KYRIA!
FATHER!
"KYRIA!"
She woke up screaming. Something was holding her, keeping her against the pillows. She screamed harder, fighting the hands around her.
"KYRIA! Kyria stop!"
"LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME! FATHER!"
Other hands moved but she fought harder. Father! Father, Father, Father Fa-
"Kyria! Look at me- Look at me!"
Something pulled up her head forcing her to look. She cried harder. The head! The head was there! It was looking at her and talking and moving and the lips and the nose and-
It was warm.
There was a neck under the face. And shoulders. And skin and hair and-
"Father!" she begged, gripping the warm, alive skin under her hands with a desperation that made her convulse in sobs and relief and horror combined.
Something shifted on the man's face. He pulled her closer, pressing her head against the thin skin of his neck. Kyria's temple ended up against her father's pulse. She closed her eyes, finally understanding the situation.
A dream. It was only a dream. Thank the gods!
She sobbed against her Father's collar, hearing the warmth of his skin and the vibration of his voice as he hushed her slowly.
The pulse is beating here. He's alive.
Alive.
"Father" she moaned again between her sobs.
He hushed me again, his hand stroking her hair.
"What happened?" asked someone behind him.
"It's all right children. Go back to bed." said another one.
Lady Catelyn. Her mother. It made her sob louder.
"But what happened? Is she all right?" Robb.
"It was a nightmare Robb. Go take care of your brothers," Father. The echo hummed against her face. She focused on the sound.
Alive.
Alive.
There were noises outside, then footsteps. Then a closed door. Someone sat on the bed and a delicate hand stroked softly on her head. The bandage and the hair around it.
"Oh my love..." sighed Mother's voice.
She sobbed louder still, unable to stop or talk. A dream. A horrible, horrible dream.
"It's alright my dear I'm here. I'm right here." hushed Father "everything's going to be fine. My sweet little wolf."
She could not say how long she stayed here, sobbing her eyes out against her father. Her mother on her back petting her hair with a delicate hand.
She fell back on the bed after a time, and the Maester gave her something to drink. Soon her eyes were heavy and her head numb. She fell asleep.
But something had changed inside her. The Dream…
It was like they could not forget it.
What happened to me?
TBC
...So? verdict?
I would like to take the time to thank Max20.7 who accepted to Beta-read this chapter and all the ones who'll follow from now on. Having someone willing to help me in this area is very relieving and will definitely prevent me from doing that massive editing stuff at every book I'll publish later xD
I am definitely happier with this version. It's more intense and more realistic with the head injury. And the thing it does to Kyria to lose everything she ever knew and having to deal with the looks everyone is giving her. I felt like the last version was just too nice about that. With Kyria quickly taking back the control of her life. I mean, this is a thirteen years old girl who doesn't even remember her name!
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed that and I await your opinion with great impatience!
See ya!
Rubyy.