Wolf Queen
Chapter 1
They whispered about her in the cold dark night of winter; of her cold beauty and of the darkness that seemed to embrace her wherever she went. The horrors Sansa Stark had endured had only made her more resilient, stronger, powerful. When all was lost to her she arose like a phoenix and built her kingdom up from the ashes; all who betrayed the Starks were dealt with. Her late father would have done the honourable thing, he would have put them to the sword and given them a swift death. But no, not, Sansa Stark; this Stark seethed and had stewed in her anger for nearly a decade. She didn't want her enemies to have a swift and kind death…
Sansa Stark wanted them to pay with blood.
And so they did, the Bolton's went first, their screams echoing throughout the burnt halls of the once great keep of Winterfell, as the lone red-headed Queen strode through the broken gates of the ancient keep, her head held high. Her red hair flowing behind her, a silver diadem atop her head shining in the cool light of the early morning. Thousands of howls floated to her ears as her pack emerged, snapping, snarling, growling, ready to lay justice at the wolf Queens feet. They wanted justice just as much as she did. They could feel her constant anger, hear her pleas for justice. That's how the wolves had found Lady Sansa in the first place. Cowering in the snow close to the strangers' door; the wolves descending on her, taking her in; making Sansa their Queen. Therefore installing the Starks back onto their throne and back into the game of thrones.
A pack of a thousand wolves stalked into the gates of Winterfell, the snarls of the great wolves sending the Bolton men into fits of fear. They loaded arrows and shot at the wolves; men emerged from the keep swords at the ready. They charged at the red-headed beauty, who smiled widely as her pack ascended on the Bolton men.
Their screams grew louder. Blood spilled, the snow glowing red as justice was dealt to the people who murdered her family.
Sansa Stark grinned.
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Stannis Baratheon and his army were stationed approximately one hundred and twenty-five miles from Winterfell when the winter storm set in. When the cold came blistering through, shrouding his army in white, his wife had fallen like many before her and as many would after her. His war effort dying, shrivelling to nothing but ash stomped between the feet of men…
Food was scarce, his men cold and famished; they had resorted to the little food his encampment had left; every soldier and lord alike were served rationed food, including the great King himself. He would not gorge himself while his men suffered.
The red woman whispered in his ear daily, calling for sacrifices to send to the Lord of Light. She inched closer and closer to treason. She dared to mention his sweet scared daughters' name in her attempt to free them from this disastrous hell of a winter storm. This worried King Stannis. Any more words like that from her mouth would have her exiled.
The clans from the deep north claimed the weather could last for months. They were used to the winter storms, these men reviled in it. While his southern men huddled over the dwindling flames of the fire, the northern clans traversed through the snow, finding small things for the awaiting army to eat. Nuts, tree bark, worms. It was better than nothing. It provided vital nutrients to his men who were close to death. His army would not survive this… not for much longer.
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The overwhelming smell of smoke woke King Stannis Baratheon. It wasn't unusual to smell smoke within his camp, but the stench of burning flesh followed it.
He sprang from his bed.
What in the seven hells was the red priestess doing? He had ordered her; no sacrifices were to take place.
He dressed, quickly throwing his warmest cloak over his shoulders and his sword belt around his waist.
Then he ran.
His men followed closely behind him; the smell had finally drifted to their side of the encampment. Who's know how long she had been burning her sacrifices.
In the middle of the camp great flames enveloped tall log pyres, the burning remains of a human body silhouetted in the great red flames. Stannis felt his rage rise, how dare she! He had ordered no sacrifices and she has disobeyed him. The red woman stood closest to the flames, gazing into the heat; a smile among her lips, a red ruby glowing brightly at her pale throat.
"Melisandre! How dare you disobey me? I am your King!" The king yelled at her. He stood tall, his sword hand resting on the hilt. He almost glowed with his anger. "Glory demands sacrifice." Was her answer. The red woman pulled someone small from behind her, she held his daughter! His poor Shireen. She was crying, begging her father to help her.
"Unhand her this instance!" The King roared stepping closer, unsheathing his sword Lightbringer with a metallic swoosh. Melisandre looked to him, still smiling. Her eyes gleamed red. "Glory demands sacrifice." Before the king could blink, she pushed the princess into the flames.
Stannis cried out, scrambling towards the flames. His daughters scream filling the air "Father! Father! Help me." she called.
Stannis was near, his hands reaching into the flames when a flash of grey pushed him out of the way. He fell to the snow-covered ground and watched in desperation as a wolf as large and a horse-pulled his daughter by the fabric of her dress from the flames. King Stannis Baratheon could only watch in a stunned silence as his daughter was dragged through the cold snow, the flames that burnt her dress dying as the snow diminished them; the wolf dragged his daughter right to the feet of a woman surrounded by wolves.
The woman was one of utter beauty, her red hair was a beacon of light in the dark night. Bright blue eyes that were so familiar to the king gazed down at the princess who was crying in fear. The woman tilted her head much like puppies do when they hear strange noises for the first time. She knelt down in the snow before the young girl. "Shhh," she hushed the girl, the woman's pale hand pulled the princess into her lap, stroking the Shireen's hair to calm the hysteric girl. "You are safe now." The woman promised, her pale fingers stroking Shireen's black hair.
A silver diadem caught the light from the bright flames that still raged on. That diadem was familiar to him. King Stannis's eyes widened ever so slightly, suddenly becoming perfectly aware of who stood before him. This was the girl he was trying to save, Lady Sansa Stark. It was impossible!- she was supposed to be held captive. Yet it seemed Sansa Stark didn't need saving, no, instead she had risen from the ashes of her dead family, a pack of wolves at her side; fashioning herself as the Queen in the North
Stannis broke from his state of shock and ordered his men to grab the red woman and have her locked in chains. She would meet her justice when he knew his daughter was healthy and safe.
The King walked very calmly towards the red-headed beauty and his daughter, fully aware a multitude of hungry wolves watched on. He knelt beside Shireen, his hands going to the poor girl's scared face "Shireen..."
"I am okay father. She saved me." The princess reassured her father. He looked her body over, noting the minimal burns to his daughters' hands and legs. Sansa looked to him, "My king." She tilted her head baring her neck in a what Stannis assumed to be a submissive manner.
"Sansa Stark?" The woman nodded. It was then that Stannis came aware to his daughter who was lying in the snow, her head resting against Sansa's fabric-covered lap. He turned to his men who watched on, awestruck by the beauty that had saved their princess. "Fetch the Maester and send him to my tents,"
" Immediately!" He ordered, gently taking Shireen into his arms.
He turned to Sansa Stark, "We have much to discuss." She muttered. Urging the king to lead on with the swish of her delicate hand.
"Your wolves?" He gestured towards the group of ferocious-looking wolves of all sizes and colours. The woman's smiled "They will hunt!" She waved her delicate pale hand at the wolves who turned, running into the tree line, following her order. The grey wolf that had saved his daughters' life staying behind, to protect their Queen. It was then that Stannis noticed this was no ordinary wolf, it was a Direwolf. The wolf was bigger than the average warhorse.
His heart rate increased; his head began to ache. His teeth grinding within his mouth, all unnoticed by him; kneeling in the snow the Baratheon king brought his daughter whimpering in his arms pain etched on her scared face, The Queen in the North following closely behind.
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