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Just wanna pop up here and thank all that have fav/followed so far, I'm so glad you guys are eager for more!

Enjoy chapter one!


"oh, when they see me coming, even the wolves will run."

— s.r.w


"Where is Laisa."

Catelyn frantically searched the courtyard, as did Eddard, in hopes of finding Laisa before the caravan arrived. He was assuring her, silently, with a hand on her shoulder that their eldest should find her way and in time. Eddard was hoping she was not hiding, though refusing to blame her if she was. His sweet girl grew fierce and wild, like a Northerner should. Her defiance for propriety did not strike well with her mother but even he could defend that she had more than good reason. As Laisa aged, she began to bear a staggering semblance to the one woman whom the king desired most; the queen loathed with all her being and was the cause of great ruin in their marriage. If it were allowed to be called as such.

"Sansa, where is your sister?"

Sansa shrugged carelessly.

Despite this, Laisa never shied from accepting it as fate—albeit unfortunate.

Lyanna Stark lived on, she said, I may not be her…but I will do what ever necessary to keep her memory alive.

It was a burden he would not place on his worst enemies; abiding by the will of the Old Gods and wearing a dead woman's face as commemoration.

The caravan arrived, banners of crimson and gold waved; lions decorated their bearings. Though a Stag was king, the Lions did well in reminding their people whom was truly in control.

The whispers of the eldest's whereabouts reached the ears of the king the second he was assisted off his grand stallion. The king himself had to count the children, including the bastard, to make note that there was at least one or two missing if memory served him right.

Eddard focused on the mud he knelt upon, fixating on leather riding boots and a hand beckoning him to rise.

Robert hardly got a word out before he was interrupted by the whinnying of horses and the cheering of children.

A black shire came from opposing arch, its rider donning a dark blue gown, delicate embroidery in silver, grey riding gloves and a fur trimmed cloak held closed by direwolf clasps. Her long, raven hair pulled and thickly plaited down her back, several flowers and silver cuffs acted as decoration.

"Lady Laisa! Lady Laisa!" Many of the children called, smiling and holding trinkets to hand off to the lady.

She was laughing, smiling just as brightly, "Thank you, loves, they're beautiful."

A young girl sat at the frontmost of Laisa's saddle, wearing a circlet of primroses and a stick posing as a staff. "Would you mind holding these for me?"

The little girl nodded excitedly, being given bundles of flowers, wolf trinkets, and a prayer wheel.

The pup at her steed's hooves yipped and whined at the children.

"Hush, Viera."

Laisa pulled tautly on her steed's reins, stopping before the amusement and familiar faces who were astonished to see her present. First, she handed the young girl to one of her guards to set her down, then respectfully bowed her head, the children and her guards knelt before their king and held their positions.

"Deepest apologies for my tardiness, your grace. I seemed to have lost track of time with the children."

The guard to her left assisted her dismount, kneeling before him with regret settling in her stomach. Laisa was afraid to lift her head. She knew the stories of Lyanna Stark and king Robert Baratheon, she was unaware of just how deep his love for her ran.

And he would not be so kind in reminding her. "Come forth."

Laisa kept her head down, digging her heels into the earth—some lousy attempt to convince the ground beneath her to concave, should it swallow her whole. A silent refusal came about in her mind, but her feet carried her forward, putting on her brave face and cunning smile. It wasn't for herself nor her father, it was meant for the king in hopes that he would avoid her at all cost.

One can dream, can't she.

Robert met her halfway, getting a better look at the woman who stood before him. Proud, vivacious, and full of the fire he had come to love so many moons ago.

Laisa raised her chin, narrowing her eyes and glowered at the king.

"Lyanna.." Robert was breathless at the sight. Stark grey only enhanced the vision before him, for Lyanna had lived and breathed, right before his very eyes.

Some days, she questioned why he pondered on and on about her. The king himself admits to forgetting her face, how could he truly remember Lyanna and her everlasting beauty if the memory was not as clear as it once was when she were alive.

Laisa exchanged glances of helplessness with her father. "Your grace?"

She never feared the king, nor the distant remembrances that he clung to with a hope that his true partner may be alive, even to this day. Lyanna Stark lived on and it was a legacy she was desperate to part from. There came a time where she was proud to be an identical to her aunt, but once it was over, she avoided looking into mirrors to ignore her momentary reminder. Perhaps, wearing the face of the dead was not as privileged and gracious as she once believed. The minds of children were easily malleable, that may have been why her father told her the stories of Lyanna.

No, no father is not that cruel.

Laisa looked to her father again, now pleading in silence to get this pungent man away from her. king or not, she wanted to drive a hatchet deep into his belly, disembowel the man and be done with the tall tales of the once great Robert Baratheon and his failed attempts to save Lyanna from what many know as her barbaric end.

He took one last good, long look at Laisa before turning on his heel and sneering something at Eddard, sending his apologizes to his daughter and his queen for his dismissive behavior.

the Queen.

Laisa was privy to the despise Queen Cersei held against the dead. She must have not believed the whispers of the eldest Stark daughter and dismissed them as obsessive mongrels fighting over a prized woman in their history.

One look.

One look was all it took for Cersei to remain frigid in Laisa's stead.

She curtsied, kindly greeting, "My Queen." The tremble in her voice was noticeable.

Cersei paid no mind and withdrew herself from the courtyard at Catelyn's side, being escorted to the keep with her two children in tow.

Laisa had not found the courage to lift her head, even as Cersei disappeared into the darkness of the castle. Her limbs were shaking. It took the gentle hand of a young boy to snap her out of her fragile state. She reared at the touch at first, finding the boy with dirt stained cheeks and a crooked smile looking up at her. "May we play now, Lady Laisa?"

She knelt, gently caressing his black hair. "Not today, love. I…have very important things to tend to, but tomorrow we shall play, I promise."

The children understood, and with sweet smiles, curtsies and bows, they had ran back to their homes to finish up their own set of deeds. Except for one.

It was the young girl, Ila, her name was. Sweet thing with brown hair and bigger brown eyes. She removed the circlet, placing it upon Laisa's head, then pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Thank you, m'lady."

"Pleasure is all mine." she smiled, following it with a whisper, "Your grace."

The little girl giggled lively as she sprinted away. Laisa admits she saw herself, at least herself at one time, in that sweet girl and felt a twinge of envy. For her life may not of highborn blood, her life was quite…simple.

Though, she should remind herself that simplicity was subjective.

Laisa removed the circlet, still clutching it in her fist as she pulled her stallion by his reigns. Viera followed her master, closely. Though unheard by Laisa, Robb was the first to take notice of Viera—hackles rising and a threatening growl emanating from the pup.

For her warning was meant for the Lions that came, unwelcomed and unwanted.


The Godswood was her father's place of ease. He came to the heart tree, cleaned Ice on occasion, and looked into the reflection of the pool ahead of the mossed trunk and root he sat upon, wishing the world were as simple as the nature around him. The Summer months had been kind, for the moors were not blanketed in thick snow and the pool had not froze over.

Laisa came here for similar reasons. To feel closer to the Gods, to clear her head, and to seek answers when her mother nor father could provide.

She rest on the mossed roots; Viera resting comfortably in her lap; Half Moon freely roamed, nipping on grass and wandered, something well deserved.

It was the quiet that eased the existing tension in her bones, relieving the pressure in her mind and expelling any troubles she may have had. The heart tree, nor the Seven, may have solved all mortal problems but the ones that troubled her the most…she was the utmost grateful. In such peaceful times in the Godswood, Laisa troubled herself with the burden of Lyanna Stark. A passionate, adored woman whose legacy she vowed to uphold had come crumbling around her. In her childish mind, pursuing the likeness of Lady Stark, making her father proud for the woman she had become and still can be was the only grail Laisa desired. Her father tried with reason, with fact, and his utmost respect to convince the babe Laisa was that Lyanna was gone.

Only now, she wished she had listened more.

"Does something trouble you, m'lady?"

Laisa found herself staring at Jory, looking fancily dressed in his black garb and cloak. Noting the two longswords at his hips, finding it…strange. Perhaps, he felt at ease and was not the only man suspicious around the golden lions.

"No. I'm…just enjoying a little fresh air."

"Would you mind some company?"

Laisa shook her head, shuffling aside to allow Jory space to sit.

"Are you sure you're all right, m'lady? You seemed…spooked by the presence of the king and his family."

"Tell me, Jory," she murmured, "How does a wolf cower in the presence of a lion and a stag."

Jory leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees to gaze into the reflection of the pool. He was watching her movements, her expressions; how uncomfortable she was, knowing that the king was within reach. "You were not cowering, love. If anything, you made that stag and pompous pride of his shudder. The king…he was dead-faced as if he had seen a ghost; the queen, she might've had a thought or two cross her mind when she realized who you are."

"Who am, or who I embody."

Jory winced at the venom in her voice. "Laisa I—my deepest apologies, m'lady."

"You need not apologize, you have not wronged me."

Laisa lied easily these days. She acted as if anything regarding her aunt did not bother her, when there were days she could hardly function, knowing that she may have been walking, breathing, and renamed yet Lyanna was desired. Be it by her father, her Uncle…or even her king.

Without much thought, Laisa scoot closer to Jory, resting her cheek against his shoulder as his arm curled tightly around her. He was the only man who saw her for Laisa. She found comfort in her childhood friend, more than she had bargained for. Simply because he was not seeking the dead, he sought the living girl with pretty, grey eyes and rosy cheeks.

Maybe, it was her fault for allowing herself too close to a man she was not allowed to keep.

"When I was three and ten," she spoke, "My father found me in my chambers, kneeling in a pile of broken glass with a shard in my fist, dangerously close to my face. I hadn't remembered breaking the mirror, much less the act I'd commit with its shattered pieces."

"He wrestled the shard from my hand and demanded to know what I had done." Viera climbed off her lap, stretching her front and hind legs before trotting off into the wood for her midday hunt, "I screamed at him I was tired of people staring, whispering 'Lyanna Stark is alive'. I attempted to disfigure myself just to break away from her grasp on me. I thought…maybe if I was ugly, a hideous scar on my face would cease the whispering. The people would move on and I would be free, to be Laisa Stark once more."

"I have been driven to the brink of madness because the Gods cursed me with the ideal Stark trait. How unfortunate is that."

Jory was not sure what to say in response. He was sure if he expressed pity, Laisa would not appreciate the undeserved, unneeded compassion; laugh, and he might lose a finger for his humor; try and understand her actions, he's just asking for a deeper conversation of dead woman and he assumed she was tired of the spiel.

Laisa tilted her head up, propping her chin onto his shoulder, bearing a smile. "The only thing that truly stopped me that day was worrying if you were going to think I was no longer beautiful."

"Of course scars fade, as do looks eventually but I was intended to carve a line from the tip of my forehead down to my chin." Laisa traced her finger down her left cheek, where she initially sketched her intended wound.

Jory traced his gloved finger down the same path as she, curling his fingers beneath her chin to raise her head up just a little higher. "I still would'a thought you to be the most beautiful thing in this world."

He kissed her forehead in response, knowing if he would have taken the advantage that she offered…it would have not been right or within his bounds. Jory knew of her infatuation; she was rather shy about it and never brought any unwanted attention in fear her father may find out. And he would not jeopardize either of their positions. Neither would she.

"I apologize, that was stupid of me to do." Laisa immediately moved an arm's reach, uncomposed and head hanging low. She was aware that his feelings were unrequited, and he was protecting her from the devastation, of how a relationship between people of their stature would end.

It was dangerous and a casualty neither could afford.

"You should return. My father cannot be missing his Captain…especially now that we have been overrun by lions."

"And where shall you be, m'lady, so I can send for another guard in my stead."

Laisa kindly refused, "I have Viera with me and Half Moon, too. And snow isn't too kind to Southerners, Ser, I'm sure I'll be all right."

Jory respected her decision, bowing his head before turning out of the Godswood.

A peculiar man he is, Laisa's thoughts intruded on her moments of peace. She then let her mind wander to what possibilities lie ahead, if her father would approve…perhaps where she should have started was if Jory had feelings in return. A silly young girl's crush gnawed at her responsibilities as a Stark. As an unwed woman.

Laisa leaned further against the weirwood, finding herself fluttering her eyes shut for the sounds of the Godswood was a serenade she could no longer ignore.

Just as she were to welcome sleep, Viera's warning snarls had startled her awake. She watched as her hackles raise, snarling out into the open with no visible threat in sight.

Her eyes darted from tree to tree, thick brush and out in the open to find nothing worth Viera's behavior.

"Viera, come."

The wolf hadn't moved but an inch, taking one hesitant step back with her teeth bared and lowered her front half to the ground in preparation to launch at whatever or whomever was lurking in the shadows. Laisa recoiled when Viera barked, giving the presence one final warning. It was ruled out that any familiar or family could be prowling in the wood, for Viera would not act this way if it were. She regret not allowing Jory to send another, more so blamed herself for not carrying her bow and quills.

She-Wolves backed into a corner, all alone in the Godswood. This was starting to sound like the plot of a song they cheer in pubs whilst soldiers drank amongst themselves.

"Viera—"

"I apologize for the intrusion my lady; I did not think I'd have to surrender to the beast at your feet."

Viera snarled.

The man halted, hand curling around the gold hilt of his sword at his hip at her warn.

"Sit, Viera." Laisa instructed, watching as her wolf eased her hind legs to the ground, hackles and her defensive behavior not at ease. "Announce yourself."

He lifted his hand, kneeling before Laisa and Viera, hoping that this courtesy would save him from having his throat torn out.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, of the Kingsguard, my lady."

Laisa's eyes flared, immediately flinging herself forward to grab Viera by the scruff of her neck and pull her back.

The pup whined. "I-I apologize for her behavior, Ser. She is not comfortable around those she does not know…especially when my safety is of concern."

"No need, my lady. It was foolish of me to approach you without identifying myself."

Laisa nodded her thanks.

Jaime arose, straightening himself and placing his hand back onto the gold hilt. "The king has instructed I be your guard. Your other dog let me know where you spent the rest of your day so I could watch over you."

Jory. She spared the confliction towards his rudeness, turning to face the pool ensure Viera was no longer staring at the man with drooling chops and narrowed eyes.

"The king, you say." she muttered, "What is it of his concern that requires a Kingsguard be at the side of a lady rather than himself."

"Yes, Lady Stark, the king is…well I'm sure you understand."

"No, Ser." Laisa kindly dismissed. The worst winter was held captive in her eyes and even Jaime could not ignore the chill, "I do not understand."

"Don't make me spell it out for you girl, you're smarter than that."

With that said, Laisa stood tall with Viera on her heels as she fetched Half Moon, her shaking grip slipping off the reigns whilst she lead him out of the Godswood. She skated past Jaime, hissing one last remark before disappearing into the wood.

"Lyanna Stark is dead, she has been for many years and I'm not going to subject myself to play her part to satisfy what obsession he has with her. And neither should you."


"Must I really wear a dress?"

Laisa chuckled, "Yes, Arya. We've been over this and as much as I'd like to trade my gown for yours, I cannot. We must look…presentable."

Arya snorted, lowering her chin to her chest before Laisa raised it once more to keep her head leveled as she braided. She winced at the sharp tugs and pins being forced into her bun, reaching a hand up to scratch the tender parts of her scalp. Laisa gently rubbed her thumb over where it throbbed the most, hearing her sisters' hum of satisfaction.

"I look stupid." she sighed.

"You look beautiful, love."

Arya wasn't the least bit convinced. "I do not understand why we have to look like this."

As though her mind had been read, Laisa wondered the same. Perhaps it could have been because Southern styles were intricate, delicate, and far more flattering—or so the Southerners had one believe—in comparison to the North. A simple plait and a dark blue gown from her existing wardrobe could have sufficed but their mother was persistent in pleasing their guests. Simplicity did not exist in the South.

Arya discarded the gown left in her chambers with haste; Sansa had made her own out of pure infatuation and respect for the Baratheons; Laisa, on the other hand, added her own simple yet noticeable touches of an already existing, unfinished gown.

The pale blue gown was cut into a flattering neckline, one that may have exposed too much and lacked sleeves. The skirts fell straight, layered with white silk and embroidered with pale silver stitching. It was significantly lighter than her winter gown, unlined with fur and not made of thick wools. Her additions consisted of lace sleeves sheered off another dress made for her by Sansa and two direwolf head brooches on either side of her shoulders. Originally, the metal had been a clasp on one of her cloaks but with Sansa's trait of needlework and innovation, her Southern homage had been improved.

"Mother wants a good first impression, Arya. The king may be father's brother in terms of affection and closeness, but the queen is.."

Arya sniggered, "A pompous arse."

Laisa immediately covered Arya's mouth after the insult had left her lips, and giggles ensued. The vibrations of her lively laughter vibrating against Laisa's fingers made her laugh, too.

"You cannot speak that way, Arya, you do not know who might be listening." She scolded but was unable to keep up the motherly façade. Laisa, herself, ended up in a fit of giggles.

Arya nodded, a hand still covering her mouth.

Once her hand was removed, Arya jumped up out of her seat then took a curtsey, offering up her hand. "I request to be your accompaniment, Lady Stark."

"It would be my pleasure, Lady Stark."

Arya scowled. "I'm not a lady."

Of course you're not. Laisa was reminded of much of herself at Arya's age. It was a new, complex feeling of pride that Arya would not face the brave world alone, denying what is to be expected of her and forging something better that should become of her with age. Something that would make her father, her sisters, and her brothers that much prouder.

Arya tugged on Laisa's arm, guiding her out of the keep and straight towards the feast hall where the liveliness lived on for the night to come. Through the doors lied a wasteland of drunken, gluttonous men and the Northern spirit that lived on through the invasion of crimson and gold.

Laisa seated herself next to Robb, intentionally stealing his mug of ale whilst Arya found her friends on the opposite end.

Sansa was being too obvious, eyeing the prince like prized meats and continued to shyly look away whilst she smiled. Her conversation the Jeyne Poole must have been an interesting one, for the girls giggled and whispered amongst each other every moment the Prince had looked her way.

What a sight, it truly was. Laisa often envied Sansa's naivety, her knowledge of love was from mother and father; books about gallant knights in shining armor; kings and queens living happily ever after with their litter of children. Perhaps, it was her naivety driving her to marry Joffrey, to become Queen and bear his children. If only it was ever so simple.

"Have you seen Jon anywhere?"

Robb shook his head, sorely speaking, "Mother didn't formally invite him. He's out in the practice yard, beating up old dummies and freezing his arse off. Uncle Benjen just saw 'em."

Bastards were not allowed at feasts, for it would be a dishonor. A disgrace. An unpleasantry in the face of royalty. Laisa never thought her mother to be a cruel woman until Jon Snow tarnished her House. The act of infidelity bestowed her father on a yearlong war. Laisa did not blame him. Though the perils that swung between life and death surely did not excuse breaking the sacred vow between a man and his wife; to the Gods, Laisa did not see it as such. Once again, nativity struck, and she hadn't known love nor infidelity. Her opinions were open to change whence the time had come for such responsibility, but until then, she only had one complaint.

Her mother's irrefutable behavior towards Jon. He, an innocent babe, taking the hefty weight of the blame for her father's mistake.

So much for a son not being responsible for the sins of their predecessors.

"Uncle Benjen rode in, all the way from the wall?"

He nod. "Talked of wildlings and vows—Jon is convinced."

Laisa furrowed her brows, stealing his ale again, "Convinced of what?"

It hadn't dawned on him that Laisa was unaware of Jon's own forging. Robb leaned forward into the table, overlooking his plate of rabbit and deer meat. "Jon is thinking of taking the Black."

"The Night's Watch," she repeated, sounding as appalled as she looked, "Are you sure?"

"Do you expect him to stay in Winterfell, where he is under scrutiny for breathing, and live his life as nothing but father's bastard?"

Laisa snapped, "He is no bastard, he is our brother, Robb. Do you not understand that if he goes to the wall, we will never see him again."

"As long as he is in Winterfell, he is a bastard and nothing will change that." said Robb, taking a mouthful of rabbit flank, "The wall will give him purpose, he cannot have us protecting him forever. I love our brother, I do, but Jon is of no importance here. He cannot cling to your skirt forever, sister."

While he might have been right, it did not hurt any less. She picked at her plate, tearing dear meat with her fork and nibbled. She scanned the hall, finding Sansa at the high table at the farthest part of the hall. Her conversation with the queen must have boded well with the spritely skip in her step back to Jeyne.

Without word, Laisa excused herself and startled Robb with her departure as she never was one to shy away from a feast for that matter until he found where her gaze had landed. Amongst the head of browns and blacks, a gold head lurked in the shadows.

One that mirrored her every move.

Freed from the stale air of the feasting hall, Laisa took a deep breath of the winter air. She carefully maneuvered through the snow, her skirts in a clutch as she wandered through the courtyards in search of her dear brother. Thankful that Winterfell had grown silent throughout the night, the sound of hacking and grunting was a ways.

The practice yard was blanketed in snow. Jon, alone and taming his rage on a hay-stuffed sack wrapped over thick wood beams that had been beaten dull.

Laisa carefully approached him, keeping her distance after learning a lesson or two from Jory about startling a man wielding a weapon.

"I think he's dead, Jon."

The remark that stung the tip of Jon's tongue went better unsaid. "You think so?"

She rounded the wood fencing, leaning right up against it to look Jon square in the face, though he was avoiding hers. "I hear the Night's Watch is expecting you."

Jon rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, "I'm following Uncle Benjen back to Castle Black to take my vows."

Laisa's silence spoke volumes.

"Does it displease you."

"Knowing tonight is the last time I will ever see your face displeases me."

Laisa could not dare to try and understand the struggles Jon faces. Highborn blood he may have, but the surname Snow only got a bastard so far. She fought with the idea of presenting legitimacy to her father, for Jon not only looked a Stark, he is a Stark.

Her mother was the only obstacle between Jon's legitimacy, and she would be determined to ensuring it never happened.

"Would you miss me that much?" Jon teased.

Laisa gently smacked his arm, "Of course. You're my little brother, what am I to do if you go off to the Wall and I'm left to wither from not defending my brothers from mean little girls?"

He laughed.

There it was, the glorious hearty laughter of Jon that made her heart warm. Laisa was not going to spoil it, she would rather spend the last moments with her brother in bliss.

"Has Jory taught you anything of longswords yet?"

"He tried."

Jon beckoned her, holding out his own sword for her to wield. She took the hilt into her hands, only to underestimate its weight and let it hit the snow, hearing her whine, "Gods sake Jon, it's heavy!"

Wielding with two, smaller hands, his sword was much too heavy for Laisa to lift—let alone brandish in combat.

She managed to muster enough strength to lift it from the snow mount but was knocked back by its weight once more. Jon stuck his gloved hand out to block the sharp blade from hacking down on her head.

"Gods, you really are a weakling aren't you."

Laisa sneered, "I'm armed."

"Hardly, come here before you cut yourself."

Jon closed in from behind, placing his hands over hers to balance its mass between the two sets of hands holding it still. He adjusted her grip, one hand higher on the hilt and the other gripping just above the pommel. Handling Laisa with care, Jon swung the blade over their left shoulders, holding it still until she was aware of her position.

"When you swing, put all your weight into it. And make it count." Jon instructed.

Laisa understood, allowing her force to be put into her hands and hacked the blade down right as Jon released his grip. The blade wedged itself between the wood, it wasn't a clean cut, but it was the aim that mattered. And if a poor fellow were before her, that blade was an inch or two short of cutting his head right off.

As she pulled the sword from the wood, Laisa held it as he initially positioned her hands then tried her damned hardest to keep herself upright. Jon took a precautionary step back as she raised his sword and hacked it down once more.

"Look at that, you're getting the hang of it already."

She snorted, "The hell I am, I can barely hold it much less use it as its intended."

The blade was removed, and instead of resuming her aimless hacking, Laisa drove the blade straight through the sack of hay.

Jon took ahold of the hilt, her hands still beneath his, "Okay, now, when you're stabbing like that, don't stop there because you got it in, use all your weight again to drive it right through but be quick about it."

Though, swordsmanship was not her niche, Laisa thanked Jon for his kindness and the lesson, though so simple, it could be of use one day.

"Come with me."

Jon frowned, "To where?"

"The feast," Laisa initiated her persuasive manner, a smile could've helped, too. "Mother can sulk about father's infidelity until the end of time, but you, are formally invited to whatever Hellish condition the hall is in the last I left it."

Though he appreciated her cordial invite, Jon could not accept and blatantly disrespect Lady Stark in that manner. She hated him enough, there was no sense in adding to it.

"Laisa, you know I can't do that."

She was preparing to accept his decline long before her offer. So, Laisa had done what she did best and separated from Jon, standing out in the blanketed practice yard, her hand stretched towards him.

"Then, at least give me one last dance, Snow."

Jon cocked his head, "There's no music."

Laisa held her hand out, regardless. "That's never stopped us before."

humor her. A lie amongst the many he told himself tonight, sheathing his sword and taking her hand to lead the dance. His hand found its way to the small of her back; hers at the broad of his shoulder, hand in hand. Jon moved slowly, calmly in circles, almost as if he were improving his footwork and hoping Laisa hadn't noticed. He twirled her then brought her back against his chest as they swayed to the tune that played faintly in the distance. Laisa twirled herself out once more, meeting him in the center with their hands pressed flat against each other.

They continued on for what felt like hours until the echoes of applaud had startled the two. "How touching."

Jon immediately drew his sword, tucking Laisa behind him until the figure manifested from the shadows.

"Put your blade away, boy, you don't want this fight."

Laisa peeked from behind Jon's shoulder, furrowing her brows in concern, "Ser Jaime? What are you doing here?"

"Did you truly believe that the king was bluffing when he appointed me to be your guard, Lady Stark." he stated, bluntly.

It was as if Jon had cast her a look that read, your guard?, but had kept quiet.

"His Grace watched as you snuck off into the night with no word of your whereabouts. He sent me to find you." Jaime's tone was tedium, "And I'd rather be tracking wolves than spending another moment in that feast hall. Northerners aren't the least bit entertaining."

"Jon, would you mind checking on Viera for me…I'd like to speak to Ser Jaime alone."

Jon should have taught her more than hacking and poking, for her own personal safety. "Just shout if you need anything. I'll come runnin'."

Laisa diffused his threat quietly, "I'm sure that won't be necessary."

Waiting for Jon to walk off into the darkness, Laisa turned sharply on her heel to confront the Lion head on.

The worst of winters.

"Do tell me why you are truly here, Ser. I do not take kindly to being followed or watched, for that matter. By your king or otherwise."

Jaime grinned, mocking a bow. "Forgive me, my lady. I do hope you're not troubled by my presence."

"I'm quite troubled." she murmured, "Earlier in the Godswood, as though you had appeared from nowhere and hid in the shadows as you did now. Tell me was I not to be privy of your guard at the discretion of the king or is prowling in your nature."

His lips pressed in a tight line, assuming the cordial position before her. Jory did something similar—straightened his back, adjusted his stance and held his head high—when he was charged with being her protection when she was not fond of his shadow cast a few feet behind.

"All right.."

As Laisa was making way back to the feast hall, Robb was heading in her direction, armed and Grey Wind at his feet. She must have thought this is what Jon meant when he would come running...the Kingslayer would have a much harder time explaining why Robb forced his hand to the king and their father if this night ended in tragedy. The Lord Commander would have no qualms slaying a bastard, perhaps the quarrel would have been well below his station.

"Should I be expecting the young wolves too?" Jaime quipped. "It would be an unfair advantage to slay a child."

He sneered, "You had no plights when it was your king, why should a child be any different."

Robb took Laisa's hand, pulling her towards him. He whispered something to her, nodding to Grey Wind as he was to escort her back to the festivities. Robb stayed put where he stood, unafraid and at an advantage if Ser Jaime decided to draw first.

"Keep away from her, Kingslayer." he bellowed, "And tell your king that if he tries to force another guard onto her, remind him the dead was laid to rest long ago. Leave Laisa be."

"And if I don't."

A snarling, guttural and angry came from behind, a black coat and barred teeth, it was not Grey Wind at his aid. Jaime recognized the beast, knew her well enough to threaten drawing his blade in preparation.

"It would be a damn shame for a lion of your stature to be food for the wolves."


EDITED 4/7/2019 (Edited a few inconsistencies!)

Ok I'm not gonna lie to you guys, the first chapter has always been my greatest struggle, in almost anything I write, and I'm sorry this came so late I wanted to post yesterday but writers block got the best of me.

And to answer Guest, Nope Jon is still here. He may not be as prevalent as he was in the shows but he'll still be here!

And is it too annoying to already have a playlist for this story...or...

I hope you enjoy it so far, don't forget to fav/follow/review!

See you next time!