Prologue

Winterfell

Lady Bellanora Otherys held her newborn daughter in her arms with tears streaming down her face.

She handed the girl off to her husband as the maesters began to worry over her. She could feel the life draining from her body as she hemorrhaged.

Eddard Stark, torn between fear for his young wife and concern for his newborn baby, stood frozen beside the birthing bed.

He looked down into the mismatched eyes of his first child. Her left eye was lilac like her mother's but covered by a milky film, indicating blindness, while her right eye was clear and strikingly, Stark gray.

As he gazed upon his oddly silent daughter, inside him blossomed a deeper love than he ever imagined.

Eddard was quiet as the maesters told him his wife would not live. His first love, his everything, would soon fall asleep to never wake again. She'd lost too much blood.

"Her name is Bellegere, after my mother, and her grandmother before her. I must keep the tradition," Bellanora whispered weakly, her smile faint but ever present.

"If it please you, husband?"

Ned Stark smoothed damp, silver curls away from his wife's face lovingly.

"If she is anything like the women in your family, I will have my hands full," he murmured, forcing a chuckle.

Bellanora could see the tears in his eyes. He turned away as they fell.

He was blaming himself.

For, his wife hadn't wanted children until him.

"This is not your fault. There is nothing we could have done. Don't ever blame yourself, my love."

Ned kissed her cold, damp forehead and stared into her lilac eyes.

His Belle was born and raised in the heat of Braavos, on the docks of the bay. Her rich mocha skin was never this devoid of heat.

It wasn't right, he mused.

She was as cold as the cobblestone walls of Winterfell.

"You will find moonlit nights strangely empty, because when you call my name through them, I will not answer," she said, almost silently. Her eyes blinked in slow motion.

"But trust me, Eddard. You will love again."

"No. Please-"

Ned shook his head, clutching their daughter to his bare chest. She shushed him as he began to rebuke her statement. He grabbed her clammy hand and clutched it tightly.

"You will find love again. You will give our daughter sisters and brothers. You will protect them all and raise them right. You will live a good life and you will remember me," she said weakly, her breath shallow and shaky.

"Promise."

Ned's tears blurred his eyes as he tried not to sob. He knew she was about to leave him forever.

"Swear you will tell our daughter about me. Swear you will remember me."

He pressed his forehead to her's and kissed her lips gently. "I will never forget you and neither will our little Belle. I swear it, by the old gods and the new."

Bellanora smiled, her clouded eyes moving down to gaze at her daughter.

Her first child and her last.

Never had she been so proud.

"She's beautiful. Look at her. Look at what we made, my love."

Eddard glanced down at his beautiful daughter, who's eyes were wide open and staring back at him curiously.

In them, he saw everything.

But when he turned to his wife, she was gone.

Fifteen Years Later

"Bellegere must choose first, as she is the oldest," Ned Stark announced, looking to his first child.

Rob huffed. "She's a girl, though! I'm the oldest son."

"A girl that just beat you in a sparring match this morning," Jon muttered, hiding a grin.

Belle smirked as her brother complained under his breath.

It only took a moment for one of the wolves to catch her attention. A small onyx, dire wolf pup stared up into the mismatched eyes of the oldest Stark child. She felt a connection with it, as one of the wolf's eyes was defective, like her own.

Her good eye examined the pup closely for any injuries. Finding none, she smiled brightly.

"This one is mine," Bellegere Stark declared, proudly holding up her new companion.

Bran gasped. "It's eye is like yours!"

"I wanted that one," Rob muttered sullenly.

Theon and Jon laughed at him, making him glare.

Ned Stark pet her pup gently.

"What will she be called?"

Bellegere thought for a long moment, but she couldn't think of one that was worthy. She wanted to name her something that would fit her personality, but she hadn't gauged it yet.

"I will name her within a fortnight. I can't do it in good faith just yet."

"My Belle, always so thoughtful," Ned chuckled, ruffling her long mane of curly, silver streaked, raven locks.

She grimaced. "Ugh. Father!"

Catelyn and Ned watched from the balcony of the keep while Bellegere trained the wolf pups, as she did every morning for the past month.

Her light brown skin shimmered in the cold sun as she lowered her hood to look up at them. Her blind eye was clouded over, while the other was gray and clear as day.

"Watch this," Bellegere called up to them.

When they smiled down, she turned to the rowdy pups and captured their attention with a treat.

"Sit," Bellegere commanded in the Old Tongue.

The pups did as told, their eyes fully focused on her. "Attention."

The wolves hackles rose and they crouched in place, readying to attack. Their little growls were adorable, but when they matured it would be terrifying.

"At ease."

When the pups relaxed their defensive stance, she praised them and fed them dried meat. Ned and Catelyn clapped for her and laughed as she bowed flamboyantly.

"She is a wolf whisperer, it seems," Catelyn said, her expression unreadable.

"It is the wolf's blood," Ned muttered. "I thought she would take after her mother, but I was wrong. She is a true daughter of the North."

His wife nodded. "She has the look of an Otherys but the spirit of a Stark. Even with her periodic visits to her family in Braavos. She is just like you."

"She's much wilder than I ever was."

They watched as Bellegere began to destroy her brothers in sparring matches with the help of her closest companion, Mya Stone. The king's eldest bastard from the Eyrie had been staying in Winterfell as a ward ever since her mother died from consumption, many moons ago.

Bran and Arya, their doting audience, cheered and clapped as they humbly taught her younger brothers a lesson in swordmanship. The boys listened intently, eager to learn Belle's Braavosi ways even though they often made fun of her for them.

"Please speak to her. We both know what happens to Stark women with the wolf's blood. She'll never marry if she continues behaving like a boy. God's forbid she end up in some band of sellswords. Mya doesn't help the matter either," Catelyn murmured, feeling her dread rise the more she thought of what might happen.

Ned sighed, watching his first child exhibit traits that would be coveted in a son. If she were born a male, she would have been the best heir a lord could hope for.

Yet, here she was.

Daughter of Bellanora of House Otherys, the famed Black Pearl of Braavos, descended from strong women who commanded fleets of ships as infamous pirates and powerful courtesans, and Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and descendant of the Kings of Winter.

A child who came into the world, taking her mother's life in the process.

A beautiful, half blind, young woman of marrying age that dillingently refused to marry.

She was the eldest Stark daughter whom the most respected lords of Westeros refused to look toward for marriage because of her birth defect.

It was a fact that he knew hurt her deeply, but simultaneously strengthened her resolve to remain a single woman for her entire life.

Above all these things, his most charismatic and wise child was plagued by the icy, primal wildness of the wolf's blood.

She was loathe to stay still.

The need to wander was strong in her, and he knew the danger of a Stark becoming a lone wolf.

It was his duty to guide her away from peril.

"I will speak to her."

When Eddard Stark couldn't find his eldest in the keep, he knew to go to the Godswood.

His daughter was just as devout as he thought himself to be. Most days she could be found studying the Old Tongue of the First Men and the history of their ancient rituals in the Godswood.

She often frequented the Heart Tree to pray.

Bellegere napped upon the roots of the weirwood tree, while her wolf, Runa, lazily stretched across her lap. After praying before the weirwood, she lost track of time.

As Ned approached, Runa sat up to watch him.

"Father."

Bellegere awakened, sleepily smiling at her father as he sat down beside her. After a moment she facepalmed.

"Oh, I forgot I promised Sansa I would practice needlepoint with her at noon. Did she ask you to fetch me?"

"No," Ned chuckled fondly. "I came to speak with you privately."

Bellegere sat up straight, giving him her full attention. The serious expression that came over his face worried her.

"What do you endeavor to be if you truly don't want to be the wife of a lord?"

Belle pursed her lips.

"If I had no annoying younger brother to hinder me, I would hope to be Wardeness of the North one day. As that is too much to ask, I would endeavor to lead the Stark army," she said without hesitation. He admired her confidence.

"I...have also considered Aunt Narha's offer to train as the next head courtesan for House Otherys. As...everyone says I don't look like a Stark. Perhaps I am better suited to be a Black Pearl of Braavos, like my mother and her foremothers."

Ned clenched his jaw.

"You are a Stark, Bellegere," he growled. "Whomever speaks ill of your appearance in my presence would be lucky to keep their tongue."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled faintly. "It does not pain me, father. I take after my mother, and that is an honor."

Ned sighed to himself, realizing that it would be useless of him to try and force her to be something she was not. His eldest was not meant to be a wife or a mother. Her nature was as wild as the wolf that sat diligently at her side.

"Your mother was just as strong willed as you, but in a different manner. You have the wolf's blood in you, stronger than your uncle Brandon, stronger than Lyanna, and even the first Wardeness of the North, Berena Stark," her father spoke, looking her in the eye. "There are two paths that await those with your nature. One leads to the grave and the other leads to power."

Bellegere listened intently, watching the worry manifest on his face.

"You are the oldest and most wise child of mine. I respect your choice not to marry, but I ask that you choose the correct path. Because winter is coming. And in winter, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. We must protect each other and keep each other safe from those that wish to harm us."

She lowered her head, feeling thoughtful now that he brought all of this to her attention. She looked to her wolf and pondered his words.

The wolf's blood, he said.

She knew it to be true. She felt it running hot in her veins. The urge to run free, the urge to fight and win battles, was strong in her. Most of her nights were filled with dreams of running through the wilderness on all fours.

Dreams that she knew were not merely dreams.

Bellegere had no rebuttal.

"When I depart from this world, swear to me that you will protect your younger siblings," Eddard said, feeling a spirit of dread come over him.

Bellegere frowned. "Is there something I need to know, father?"

"No, but anything can happen," he said, grabbing her hand to comfort her. "Promise me, Belle."

"I'm a cripple. You trust a half blind girl with that responsibility? Why not ask Robb?"

Eddard shook his head. "Promise me."

She sighed, a smile tugging at her lips. Knowing that her father would come to her out of all his children, the one most didn't believe was actually a Stark, made her feel a sense of pride.

"I promise."

He looked to the weirdwood tree behind her and then back at her expectantly.

Bellegere chuckled to herself and raised her left hand. He knew as well as she that an oath made before the weirdwood trees could never be broken. Not by one as devout as she.

"I swear to protect my family," she said.

"I swear it by the old gods and the new."

A sudden, strong breeze stirred the fallen, crimson leaves, and Runa bowed her head.

Three Years Later

Lady Bellegere Stark had blossomed into a strong, young woman of eight and ten.

She had learned how to be a leader as a girl, but now she was leading more than just her siblings.

She was leading her people.

When her younger brother, Robb, called their banners to avenge their father's death, Bellegere fought ferociously alongside him. She and her loyal direwolf showed no mercy to their enemies.

And they continued to show no mercy.

Alone and filled with rage, Lady Bellegere of House Stark gathered her remaining forces to retake Winterfell from the Ironborn who stole it in her absence.

When the smoke of countless battles fought and won settled, all she managed to gain was the respect of her fellow northmen.

She lost everything else.

Her stepmother, her father, her beloved little brothers, her precious little sisters, and countless friends were either dead or simply... gone.

Poor young Sansa remained in the lion's den, so far away from Belle's protection.

Now, the only beings she trusted in the world were her loyal guard, her lifelong friend, and her beloved wolf, Runa.

In the end, only one Stark remained in Winterfell.

One broken Stark.

As she kneeled in the godswood before the majestic heart tree, she thought about her father's words, always warning her.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," he would say, never elaborating further when asked why.

Bellegere thought, perhaps, it was due to their ancestral tie to the land and the stones that made up the castle. All of them placed by their forefather, Bran the Builder.

But in her heart, she knew it was the trees.

Her bottom lip trembled as she caressed the roots of the weirdwood, and the cold ground they slithered into.

If she had the chance, she would have laid her father and brother to rest here, among the godswood, so that they might become one with the trees. Rather than to bury them in the crypts below Winterfell as her ancestors chose to do.

Then, she could be surrounded by their presence when she came to pray. Perhaps, she could speak to them as well.

However, the Lannisters made sure that was not possible.

At every turn they found a way to torture her.

With fury in her heart, Bellegere asked a favor of the Old Gods.

She asked that a curse fall on House Lannister and House Frey and any other house that betrayed her own.

And she asked for much more.

"Most importantly," Bellegere whispered, removing her dagger from her belt.

"I beckon the Old Gods to grant me the strength I need to bring my family back together, to protect them, and to rebuild House Stark. In return, I will become your loyal servant for the remainder of my life, continuing on after my death."

She looked down at the dagger, feeling uncertain but willing to try anything.

Even bargaining her very soul.

For, she made a pertinent oath to her lord father before this same tree. An oath that she would not dare to break.

She had read many books about the history of the weirwood trees, and blood sacrifices made to them by the First Men and the Children of the Forest in order to gain the favor of the Old Gods.

Of course, whatsoever a man has sown, he shall reap. With magic involved, this is true twice over.

Once she chose this path, she knew there was no turning back.

Nonetheless, whatever it took to save her house and her beloved family, she would do it.

"I offer myself to thee, in perpetuity, for your protection, your guidance, and your unadulterated favor. And I vow to do your bidding with glee and terrific ardor for eternity."

Belle hissed as she sliced her palm with the blade. She pressed the profusely bleeding hand against the root of the tree, watching the blood stain the white bark.

Her brows furrowed as the crimson liquid seemed to be absorbed by the tree, the red stains disappearing before her very eyes.

Shaking her head, she continued.

With nothing to lose, and everything to gain, Lady Bellegere of House Stark sealed her vow in blood.

"I swear it by the Old Gods and the new."

In the distance, Runa's pained howl drifted through the trees on a rogue gust of wind, and the majestic trees of the godswood slowly began to weep tears of blood that would not cease until her promise was honored in full.

A mournful omen of the consequences to come.