wow this was LONG overdue! I took a little break to clear my head and my thoughts because writers block was making me feel so overwhelmed and now here we are.

Thank you to everyone who has fav/followed/reviewed so far!

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Enjoy!


"we'll just watch, listen,

while ravens make conversation about what's waiting"

— e.s.


JAIME

Food for the wolves, he says.

Jaime took great pleasure in reveling in the events taken place in the practice yards. A young wolf threatening the lion. Oh, how proud that boy must have felt.

The night had ended early, an endless string of orders from the drunken fool and now here he stood, guarding the bedchambers of Laisa Stark. How truly pitiful his place as Robert's loyal Kingsguard became. Defending kings, driving a blade into the back of another, taking victories in the currency of limbs and blood, and now reduced to a watchdog.

Lannisters are not fools, his father's voice of unneeded reason flooded his mind. Perhaps, it was the lack of sleep and dullness consuming him for hours that his father actually began making sense.

Jaime thought to rest his eyes, release the tension in his neck. To slouch comfortably against the stone walls of the Keep. Just for a moment.

What could have gone awry if he were to relax for a minute or two.

A long minute that was.

Jaime found himself slipping into the embrace of sleep and before long he could truly feel the weight of his armor, resting heavy on his frame. It was always his legs that gave out first. He wasn't aware nor quick with his reactions, soon expecting to hit the solid ground and expect to shoulder off the aches. A pain he was quite fond of.

Though, if he remembered accurately, stone grounds did not feel soft nor smelled of a winter's rose.

"Ser Jaime?"

He must have gone truly mad. Since when have stones ever spoke.

Half-lidded, barely fluttering open to the sound of a sweet girl—he could only hope for—awakening him from that moment of tranquility. Jaime blinked several times, attempting to compose himself until he was held still by the gentle grip that caged his center.

Once his vision was not longer blurred, he had awoken, head as clear as day. And staring into the deep sea of Tully blue.

"Have you been here all night?"

Jaime cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, "Unfortunately, my lady."

Her hands were still holding him steady if he decided to collapse on himself again. Jaime was fighting off the exhaustion as they spoke, the young woman before him had cast a look of pity.

What in the Seven Hells could he have done to deserve that look.

"Come in."

Jaime blinked, again. "Forgive me, can you repeat that."

"You must be exhausted, Ser. Please, rest. I know you have orders from your king but—"

"My lady, that is not wise." He argued. "It is nothing I cannot deal with on my own."

Laisa had somehow coaxed him, she acted as the crutch at his left, Jaime's initial refusal hadn't stopped her from lugging him into her chambers. It was her scowling, perhaps the most threatening thing he had witnessed all day.

"Rest, Ser. What they don't know won't kill them." Laisa sat him down on her bed, resting her hands on his shoulders; a weight he could have easily brushed off and overpower. Jaime could feel his exhaust settling into his bones, he couldn't ignore it for much longer. And the comfort of her bed was starting to feel inviting.

He yielded without further dispute.

Laisa quickly removed her hands as if she were afraid to touch him further.

"Nervous?"

She hadn't answered but the bloom of her cheeks was enough to make him chuckle.

Jaime removed his cloak, folding it over his arm and lying it to rest off the foot of her bed. If he were to get comfortable, might as well remove more. Or perhaps if Laisa Stark witnessed his moments of undress, she might combust.

He unbuckled the straps to his breastplate, the rerebraces, feeling absolute relief once the weighted steel was relieved and lied back against the mountain of furs and quilts.

Laisa watched at how effortlessly he fell into peace.

Jaime was short of inducing sleep to suit her demands, despite being truly thankful for the opportunity to gather some strength.

It was a strenuous task to watch over a noblewoman, indeed.

"Why am I here, Lady Stark."

Her brows knit in confusion. "I don't understand what you mean."

"In your chambers, in your bed." he stated bluntly.

"A kindness."

Jaime chuckled, "A kindness. One I might expect you see to it to be repaid."

"I don't expect to be repaid nor do I need to be indebted to, Ser."

"Why."

She emitted from behind the divider, shyly shrugging her shoulders, "It's in my nature, I suppose. I do not place a price on my goodwill."

Jaime did not think it wise to have a man—of his stature or not was unimportant—in her chambers. He shrugged off the notion of what could be made of a Kingsguard and a woman of her standing.

The celibate by vow and virtue, alone with a maiden—it was tavern banter at the very least.

He closed his eyes, deeply sighing as his body was surrounded by the warmth and comfort. Jaime suspected she was gazing, it was hard to rest if there were a pair of wandering eyes upon him, though he would not have any qualms.

"I watched you with the bastard." Jaime seemed to frighten her, "I don't believe I've seen children struggle with wielding a sword as you did."

"My brother." Laisa presumed it was a bite at an insult. "And it's not my talent, Ser. Never wanted it to be."

"What is your talent, Lady Stark. Forcing men into your chambers against their will or masking your demands and true intentions behind this so-called kindness you speak of."

"Or perhaps it is to torment your king."

The girl became rigid.

Jaime must have struck a nerve.

He was not sure he understood the infatuation with this Lyanna Stark. He's heard of her, too much for his liking, yet never having seen her face Jaime would have to entrust in the king's instinct.

A ghost wandered the halls of Winterfell and the afflictions it had on his king; it was truly a great honor to witness.

Robert consumed his weight worth of drink and stunk heavily of it. A whoring fool he made himself out to be, frightened by the image of a young girl, what a disgrace he was.

"He isn't the only one tormented by the dead, Ser."

Laisa lowered her eyes, moving to the stool closest to her vanity. Jaime noticed something awfully interesting, the webbed cracks in the glass. How she refused to look into it. He thought that was a common theme of her chambers, there were no glasses, and if any they were broken.

"Does Lyanna Stark trouble you this much, girl."

She nod, slow. "Yes. People like your king do very little to let me forget it."

The chamber became silent once more, if it weren't the sounds of lively commotion going on down in the courtyards, Jaime did not think he could rest. And he could not ignore the shuffling of the young girl, stuffing items into several trunks. He noticed how slowly she did so.

"Sparing time?"

"Ser, you don't have to make light conversation with me. I invited you in so you could rest, and not collapse from exhaustion on the orders of your king." she said, quite sharply, "You are of no use to me in your condition."

and she bites back.

Jaime propped his arm beneath his head, getting a better look at the young wolf. She was quick and damned near quiet; he could hardly, if at all, hear her footfalls pacing the cobblestone

"Where is your little beast."

Laisa sighed, "In the courtyards, being trained with the hounds."

"A direwolf and a pack of hounds. Sounds ominous."

"Wild animals have their quarrels with discipline."

Jaime assumed she were hinting to something but had bitten her tongue by the looks of it. And hard.

"If there's something you need to say, girl, just say it." He nipped.

Laisa opened her mouth to say something but quickly pursed her lips. She busied herself, packing her possessions and shutting up the trunk with a loud slam of the lid.

"Forgive me, Ser, I'm..." she murmured, "This is the first time I'm leaving Winterfell. I'm not particularly fond of the ride to King's Landing."

"Perhaps I should have asked if it is the king that troubles you."

"I haven't seen the king since I was a babe. I saw the man once, when he was fit to be king and now he makes a mockery of himself, his wife, his children—" Laisa slammed the second trunk, shutting it up tight, "Of me."

It seemed the utter terror settled in and Laisa turned crimson.

Jaime's eyes bore deep into her back, watching her figure grow tense.

She whispered, "I apologize, Ser. That…that was not appropriate of me to say."

"At least we agree on one thing. That fat oaf makes a mockery of my sister, daily. Whelping twenty bastards with twenty different whores, sometimes all at once." Jaime concluded, adjusting his position to lie on his back, "He won't be hearing your utterances from me, my lady, I can assure you of that."

"Thank you."

Jaime lied back against her pillows, finding that sweet scent of the blue winter rose all the more intoxicating. The morning sun had poured through the open shades, a cool breeze fanned lightly across his cheeks, and the brush of soft furs tickled his chin.

He fluttered his eyes open, lids feeling heavier with every blink. Jaime caught a glimpse of Laisa Stark, cloaking him with her quilts.

"Rest easy, Ser."

Jaime thought he mumbled something, but before long his world became black and consumed by the aroma of winter roses.


Jaime shot up, screaming. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, hair sticking to his skin, choking on his own air, throwing off the heavy layers.

He coughed, heaving in the cold breeze, catching his breath.

Even to this day, the Mad King still burdened his thoughts, his memory. What the dying king uttered for a time whilst he bled out, beside his decrepit throne. Those words, his intentions, what he knew—Robert was not the only man plagued with ghosts.

Burn them all!

His head felt heavy, lifting it was a task. Jaime scrubbed his face in attempt to awaken himself, expecting to hear of his absence throughout the night and early morn. Gods was there ever a time for peace. The door to the bedchambers swung open with intent, the threshold crowded with two Stark men and a girl, pale complexed and unsteady on her feet.

"The hell is he doin' in here." One guard drawled, taking a better hold of Laisa before passing her into the arms of another. "Ser Rodrik, please it's alright.." she dismissed, her voice fell slack. The sea that raged in her eyes had froze over, hollowed and void of all emotion.

If the fat man is Rodrick Cassel, that means this must be… "Jory, put your sword down." Laisa demanded, "He is my guest. He is no threat."

Guest? Jaime had not realized the grin creeping onto his lips. "Yes, her guest. All night long, we were getting to know each other quite well. Northern girls are much quieter than my brother attested."

Both, Ser Rodrik and Jory drew their swords. Was execution the penalty for a pun these days?

"Speak of Lady Stark in such a way again and your tongue will be sent to your father." Jory bit, though his threat appeared a bit hollow.

Laisa was not as uneasy as he had intended.

"How unfair," Jaime remarked. "Does it please you to threaten and attack an unarmed man."

"Had it pleased you to attack your king, Ser."

Kingslayer, Kingslayer. Reduced to a glorified bodyguard and a man whom has no honor—for what honor lies in killing a Mad King. Jaime rode out the tension, abruptly standing and redressing himself in his armor before exiting the chambers.

He shouted, "I await your presence, Lady Stark. King's orders."

The Great Keep was a maze of cobblestone and corridors, wandering and wandering until he had found its exit.

Jaime thought to find his sister, first and foremost, to ease his many tensions until it dawned on him that she was no longer seeking his affection. It could have been something he had done the day before or twenty years ago, his twin, his love and life was quite a complicated woman. One that he had no choice in loving.

Or so he told himself.

He reiterated plenty to keep himself steady. To keep their lies straight.

No other utterances than having no choice and the histories of the Targaryen dynasty. In moments of doubt, the assurance that if one noble House accomplished it, where was the shame, the guilt if either Lannister child had any remaining.

Cersei had come into his purview, Myrcella and Tommen flanking her.

Jaime laid eyes on her, only to be ignored. What could he have done. Was it the Stark girl? If it were, how could she blame him for following his king's orders.

He was set to go after her, only for a moment to speak a few words until he felt the slight tap on his bicep, finding Laisa Stark red-faced and scowling.

"Do you take pleasure in embarrassing a lady, Ser Jaime, or have you gone completely mad."

"Mad, no." Jaime grinned. "Though, it was amusing to see your dogs become so riled. I suppose that counts as three Stark men whom have threatened my life, and you do not see me hacking hands and tongues at their banter."

Laisa nipped, "And you do not see me loosing an arrow into your eye for insinuating we had any relation."

"Yet, here we are."

She parted her lips, as if she were to snap back at his comment but clammed up. Jaime considered it a battle won.

He followed her as she turned on her heel and departed, keeping a sharp eye for any potential threats. Jaime thought to where he would rather be and what he would rather be doing than trailing Lady Stark as she went about her morning, greeting common folk and her men, sending her father and brother off with well wishes on their hunt.

All with a kind smile. The king stared at her from afar, atop his stallion.

Jaime allowed himself closer to Laisa, gauging his reactions. Robert had a face of anguish, exhaust, having looked upon the young woman. He forced his stallion to face North and rode through the arcade to spare himself what pity and guilt he may have been feeling.

A fool.

Laisa wrapped up her send offs, appearing at ease now that Robert was gone, and she could see to it they came back unharmed. And with a blue rose if they could find one.

"Lady Laisa!"

A hand grappled at the gilded hilt, now with intent and tightly so.

She whipped around at the call, finding himself at the mercy of a huddle of children. All caked in dirt, huffing and smiling. Jaime counted twelve heads, boys and girls who looked no older than ten, who must have traveled in from Winter Town. Orphans, he thought.

"Are you really going to the South?" One girl asked.

Another boy whined, "You're leaving!"

"Are you coming back!"

Laisa knelt before the huddle, some children were on the verge of tears and others were struck with bouts of worry.

"Yes, I'll be accompanying my siblings and my father to King's Landing." she answered, her honesty was commendable. "I…I do hope I will be able to return. I will not promise; it would not be right to do so."

A young boy, could have been seven namedays, shoved passed his peers and stopped before her. A steady stream of tears had rolled down his dirty cheeks, sniffling, "You said we were going to play."

"I did." she said, "And we will."

Jaime spoke up. "My lady, isn't there more important matters to tend to then—"

Laisa stood, no kindness nor a smile. A stone-faced expression that hadn't shifted, nor the glare that remained narrowed.

"Ser Jaime, I intend to only say this once, so I do hope you are paying well enough attention." She proclaimed, "These children, the residence of Winter Town, are my people. Their matters are just as important as my own for I would not be a sound lady if I did not care, whether you believe them to be or not."

Laisa placed her hand atop the head of a boy, one who seemed to cling to her side as the children rallied behind her.

If Jaime thought smarter, he were to believe he was being challenged by the she-wolf and her band of misfits.

"Your master awaits you, Ser. I suggest you do not keep him waiting."


LAISA

"What's it like in King's Landing?"

"Are there really dragon skulls in the Red Keep?"

"Is Viera coming with you too?"

"Can we come visit you?"

Laisa had not understood her meaning to these children. They looked to her as a believer would their God, if that is all one knew. Her nobility came at a cost and here she was, spending moments such as these with common folk, orphaned children. A noblewoman who sought to bring comfort to her people, to bring peace and care, not through prayer or worship but with action. The hard-earned, attentive regard to the wellbeing of those whom were loyal and faithful to their protectors.

Where would any noble house be without their people.

Laisa lifted her head at the children's question, coming in abundance. She did not want to lie, nor did she want to admit the truth to their mundane line of questioning.

A Stark trait was straightforwardness, honesty. Children were not exempt, perhaps, they were the ones whom needed it the most.

"I do not know, sweetlings. And yes, Viera will be coming with me." Laisa replied. "No, I do not think you will come visit…King's Landing is not the safest place for children. I wouldn't want anything to happen to any of you, on the sake of visiting me."

The children seemed to quiet down, unable to find the zest to resume their play.

Laisa did not think the parting would be this difficult. To say goodbye, for what might constitute as forever.

"Will you return to the North, Lady Laisa?"

"One day." she answered quick. "I may be arranged to marry a Lord, one day as well. I may not ever return to Winterfell."

It seemed everything she had been speaking was wrong.

The children had become motionless, two concerned and the remainder were holding their breaths. It was a heartbreak a mother must have felt for abandoning her children, one she could not simply ignore. Was it terrible, inconsiderate even, to believe these children looked to her as the mature, maternal figure they had been searching for?

Once more, having to relive the agony of a parent being ripped from their lives.

"Come." she beckoned.

All the children had closed in, all being wrapped in the arms of Laisa. The ones who did not fit made do, encasing her in their little arms, small hands gripping tightly to her cloak.

Laisa rested her head atop the little boy whom was pressed firmly against her chest, sobbing a little quieter than the rest.

She cooed, "Hush…hush loves, no need to cry.."

Their little arms and hands tightened, few had fallen to their knees and others were struggling to stand on wobbling legs.

Laisa found comfort in the Old Gods, just as she did the New. She was fond of their ballads, as were the children, perhaps the Seven could sate their drear.

"The Father's face is stern and strong; he sits and judges right from wrong." Laisa sung, softly. "He weighs our lives, the short and long, and loves the little children."

The children sniffled and wept, pulling off of her one by one to wipe their tears. Her grail was to encaptivate them, to ensure their safety and that their lives will go on, regardless of her being in Winterfell. Laisa soothed them, wiping their dirty cheeks with her cloak, refusing to see either of her children cry any longer.

My children, she thought.

"The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children."

The Godswood was still. Some small voices joined her in the verses, palming their tears, and kneeling before her.

"The Warrior stands before the foe, protecting us where e'er we go. With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children."

In the distance, Laisa found Ser Jaime gliding through the wood, looking disheveled and a bit red in the cheeks from the cold.

"Ser—"

"Something's happened."

Laisa thought the worst. She arose, the children parting from all around her as they followed her, "What… what's happened. Is it my father—was…was he hurt on the hunt—"

"No, my lady. Your little brother was found at the foot of the broken tower," Jaime informed wearily, "He fell."

Bran.

Laisa was unsure of what to do. Her head became as blurred as her vision. her feet were firmly planted, and her legs did not want to move. She looked to the children around her, feeling their little hands pushing and their voices demanding so go. They pressed her forth until she finally found her footing and ran. Laisa cared not for the children, nor Ser Jaime. The only thought that was pulsating in her mind was of Bran, and if he were to live to see the morrow.

Her world became dark.

I was supposed to protect them.

Laisa pushed past the crowd of commoners, frantically searching for Maester Luwin, her sisters, her mother, anyone. She caught sight of the astonished crowd corralling near Maester's Turret, Stark men becoming the barrier between concerned common folk and Bran.

She made way, a Stark soldier recognized her immediately and let her pass between the crevice of his outstretched arm and the common folk pushing against his person.

Bran was asleep, looking so small lying in a gurney hoisted by Jory and Myles. Maester Luwin was attending to Bran's needs plenty, and she was set to follow.

She had barely made it into the threshold before she was yanked backward by a rough hand, one that was attached to Rodrik.

"Let me go!"

"M'lady, let the Maester do this work."

Laisa fought, unknown to the tears that brimmed and had fallen. "No, no I need to be there for him! Please let me go! He needs me!"

I failed him.

Rodrik took strong hold of her shoulders, pulling her back as gently as his strength would allow, "M'lady, calm yourself, we need t'keep strong for Bran."

Laisa felt herself give way, pulling her heels out from the muck to fall directly into Rodrik's embrace. Her legs nearly gave out from under her until Rodrik had pulled her aside, holding her to his chest as she cried for Bran, for Robb, for her father.

Rodrik hushed her, watching from afar at the vision of Catelyn and Sansa, huddled in the corner sobbing amongst themselves. Laisa hear their prayers, their pleas.

"It's not possible.." she sobbed, "Rodrik, tell me it isn't true—"

"All we can do now is pray, love." He consoled.

Laisa outwardly cursed the prayers. The Gods, Old and New, hadn't cared enough to watch over Bran and now here they stand, awaiting to hear of his condition. She bit her tongue. There was no sense in damning the idols. If her little brother may or may not live, it was out of mortal hands and was now up to them.

"Laisa! Mother!"

She ripped herself from Rodrik's hold, releasing his jerkin to find Arya, hand in hand with Rickon. Both children out of breath, coated in a sheen of sweat and tears.

"Be their strength, child." Rodrik spoke hoarsely, as thought his order could be heard above the commotion. "They need you now."


"He…he looks so small."

Laisa was the second to overcome the distress of seeing Bran after Maester Luwin ordered he be put to bedrest as they awaited what came next. Her mother was at his bedside, exhausted of any strength she had left, and looked as if she were to collapse.

Laisa sat at Bran's bedside, reaching a gloved hand out to gently brush the leather against his soft cheek, hoping the gesture would awake him. It was a stupid thing to pour so much hope into.

"What does Maester Luwin say, mother.."

"He.." She began, composing herself soundly, "If Bran were to awaken…he would be crippled for the rest of his life.."

Another sweep of her fingers across Bran's cheek, over the smallest, insignificant scar that could barely be seen in order to remember something small. Something truly important.

"Here, pup. Lift your drawing arm, keep your bow arm steady." Laisa knelt next to Bran, adjusting his stance, tapping her fingers under his bicep. "There we go. Now, find your target…take a deep breath."

Bran nodded, inhaling until his chest puffed.

"When all the air leaves your lungs, let it loose."

Bran let go of the bowstring, his arrow had shot forth and pierced the haybale. A quill highlighting his aim.

He was full of excitement, bouncing about the courtyard with a bow in hand. Laisa couldn't contain the giggling erupting from her lips, kneeling to catch his little figure in her arms and squeeze.

"I'm so proud of you."

Bran's smile hadn't faded, his little cheeks became pink from the cold. It was a sliver of blood that caught Laisa's attention. He must have drawn too far, scraped up his skin a tad.

"Go grab another, try it again."

Bran's giggling haunted her, as he lie unmoving and asleep. Laisa glanced to her mother, or what hollowed woman sat in that chair and disguised herself as such, waiting for her to speak. To moan. To scream. To lament. To do…something.

His unnamed direwolf pawed at the furs, whining and whimpering, to alert an unresponsive Bran. Laisa gently pet the pup, scooping him into her lap as he began to become playful in order to rouse his little master awake.

"When father first told us of the wolves, Bran was unsure of what to name his. He tried various titles but none had fit his character." Laisa chuckled, "The closest he had gotten to a name was 'hey you', all month long that is what we heard from the Godswood to the Keep. Over and over."

"And then, one day, I heard something.." she said, "'Summer!' I heard him shout, and I see this blur of white and gray, run across the courtyard, straight to him. The pup chased Bran, after some time I think the pup became agitated and pounced him to the ground. I hadn't seen him so happy, mother."

Laisa then caught onto her mistakes, again, seeing as Bran would never live the life of a Northern child. He would not be able to walk, to run, to ride, to climb ever again. Laisa let her head fall in embarrassment for having remind their mother of the ailments, pursing her lips tightly.

"He needed it, sweetling, more than we could ever understand." Catelyn spoke, in whispers, "That day, I let my son watch as his father beheaded a deserter. He won't be a boy forever, your father said. When they had returned, Bran was nowhere to be found."

The sweet summer child her brother had been for ten, long years had vanished into nothing. She founded that when she went to greet her brothers, her father in their return and Bran had walked off without saying a word, the pup in his clutches. Laisa had never hated a man of the Night's Watch, nor had she hated her father, but in that moment she despised them both. If not for the deserter, if not for her father's beliefs in sentences and swinging of swords, Bran may have not been subjected to such sights.

he would not be a boy forever.

"Must I leave, mother. I can stay—"

"No." Catelyn replied, promptly. "I will not allow you."

"Mother—"

Catelyn narrowed her watery gaze, gracing a smile though it was not strong nor genuine. "You are to ride to King's Landing with your father and your sisters. You shall not be reclused, love. I understand your devotion to your family, your siblings, but you will have to be there for Sansa. For Arya. Your brothers are not the only ones who need your guidance."

Laisa chuckled, "I don't believe my sisters want my guidance, mother, nor my protection. Arya carries herself as I did at her age. Sansa does it too, perhaps with a bit more grace."

"Laisa.." said Catelyn.

"I understand."

There was no further speak of remaining in Winterfell. Laisa would not abandon the expedition because of Bran, though the thought still fresh in her mind, she would abandon everything if it meant she had to see him one last time. To hear him wishing her farewell and good fortune.

just once.

The door opened with a creak.

Jon crept into Bran's bedchamber, his head low. Laisa lit up when she saw him, picking herself up and walking right into his arms.

"What are you doing in here."

"Mother—"

Jon interjected, angrily. "I came to say goodbye to Bran."

"You've said it." Catelyn hissed.

Laisa stood between her mother and Jon, snapped, "Mother, do not do this, not over Bran."

Catelyn said nothing. She resumed her work on the beginning of a prayer wheel, one to hang over Bran's bed, to call unto the Gods to return her boy. Her baby boy. Laisa prayed, hoped for the same. Taking her angers and resentments out on Jon was not going to bring her son back, to awaken him from his sleep. She wanted to express this to her mother, however, what good would come to her now if she were to leave, defending her brother as she wanted.

"Not now." she plead in a whisper.

Jon approached the bedside, leaning over Bran's little figure. Laisa joined him to make her presence known, to let her mother know that she was not going to allow any more of this behavior. Not over Bran, not over any Stark child if she so helped it.

"I wish I could be here when you wake up." Jon said, softly, "I'm going North with Uncle Benjen, taking the black."

Laisa felt her stomach knotting at his admittance. She rest a gentle hand on Jon's back, unknowingly digging her nails into his jerkin, in some attempt to keep him.

he would not be a boy forever. Her father's words would not leave her be. Not with Jon, not with Bran, Robb nor Rickon. Laisa silently prayed to the Crone in hopes she could bestow some enlightenment, to gather insight to why her brothers should grow years beyond their age. Why they needed to be taken from her. Why.

"l know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but you'll be able to come visit me at Castle Black when you're better."

Laisa gently squeezed Jon, managing a smile. "Perhaps we could all come to visit. If the Bear of Castle Black hasn't feasted on you, yet."

Jon chuckled. "I suppose when the time comes, I'll know my way around by then. To be a sworn Brother of the Night's Watch."

He leaned forward to kiss Bran's forehead, rousing his hair a bit.

"I want you to leave." Catelyn jeered.

Laisa and Jon looked to each other, her eyes full of apathy and apology as she watched him storm from Bran's bedchambers, leaving the door ajar.

"How dare you."

Catelyn's head snapped up at the accusation, facing Laisa's eyes whom were filled to the brim with fire.

"He is father's son, our brother and you dare throw him out for wanting to part from his family on loving terms." she snarled, "I do not care what you see him as. Bastard, half brother, a war induced mistake, he is my brother! I will not sit here and watch as you disrespect him because you are angry."

"You will understand when you have a Lord husband who loves you, just as your father loves me, and he comes home from a time of peril with a babe."

Laisa scoffed, "No. I will not hate the innocent babe brought into this world, I will not hate the child who tried and tried to become apart of my family, I will not hate raising another woman's child. Your quarrels are with father and you dare subject your bitterness unto an innocent babe, he had done no wrongdoing."

"Jon Stark is my little brother and I will not hear any more of this."

Laisa dismissed herself, finding her father in hanging his head low as he awaited his visit in the threshold. She would not take back her words, nor would she feel shame for facing her father, or condemn him for his mistake. Jon is no mistake.

She pushed past her father, Viera in tow. It was painful to adhere to the last words spoken to her mother, but Laisa felt they needed to be said. As Northerners, they were remarked for their honesty. For her Lord father was appraised for his truth, why should she bite her tongue whilst her mother deprecated her brother.

Jon had done nothing but dream, practice, pray to be accepted as a legitimized son.

Laisa would not let him leave Winterfell, feeling as though he is another burden. "I will not let him believe that he has been reduced to nothing."


ROBB

Rickon had clung to Laisa the moment she told him she was leaving. As their youngest, he benefited least from Laisa's attention and teachings. He was too young to truly appreciate her, though Robb believed that was due to her spoiling. The youngest pup of the pack had been loved, adored, and most certainly recognized by his elder. And he was clinging to anything and everything he could get his hands on.

He whined and cried, similar to what Robb had done in times of separation...though Laisa always came back.

Rickon was refusing to let go, no matter what vows or promises she made, no matter what she could have offered. Rickon was stubborn. If it were up to him, he would cling to her during the ride to King's Landing and beyond if it meant she would not leave him.

Sometimes, Robb wondered if his little brother loved their mother as much as he did Laisa. And he, too, often wondered the same.

Eddard had to pry Rickon from Laisa's arms, watching as his little boy fought and cried for her. "I want Laisa! I want to go with her! Don't leave!" He was begging to be released.

From where he stood, he could feel the mass looks of disapproval for Rickon's behavior. Perhaps, the Southerners could survive the North, nothing but ice and hatred lived within them if they were sorely convinced a child would not act as he did. Rickon watched as his family was torn from him at six namedays, never knowing for certain if they were going to be seen again.

"I suppose this is goodbye."

Robb approached Half Moon, gently petting the stallion's snout as his lips searched his empty palm for sweets. A spoiled thing, Robb thought.

"I never thought I'd leave Winterfell, brother." she sighed, "I never thought I'd leave the North...they say it's warm in the South. I do not see a smooth adjustment."

He chuckled. "You adapt, Laisa. You would probably do it better than I. I'm sure the heat would melt us down to nothing."

Laisa dismounted and threw her arms around his figure, squeezing her as tightly as she could to feel him returning her affection. Robb could not allow himself to cry, to fall into the pit of emotion as he watched his sisters and his father depart from home. He often thought of this day, though he was not expecting it to be so soon. Robb thought to the days of childhood, one where he proclaimed Laisa would rule Winterfell at his side, to be his trusted adviser to keep him from any rash or unreasonable decisions for the good of their kingdom.

He tightened his hold, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. "I'm going to miss you."

"And I, you." Laisa whispered.

Robb and Laisa were exceptionally close. No one could deny it. From the moment of his birth until now, Laisa had been vivid in his memory. As a mother, a sister, a protector. She showed him the love their mother could not, due to her occupancy with Arya, then Bran, and Rickon followed soon after that. Laisa raised him, as she did Sansa. If he had his way, if he were Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Laisa would not leave. She would be married to a Northernmen, one that was well within her leagues, and one that deserved her.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, enveloping her into his chest once more.

"I vow," Robb whispered, "If anyone comes to harm you, I will gladly lay my life down for yours."

It was a grand thing that Laisa could not see whom he was staring down. A gold head and a king were in his sights, and he would gladly wage war against the both of them if they were to be the reason for her misery.

"Robb, please, don't be silly." she murmured, "I will be all right."

He refused to believe such a thing.

Wolves were not welcomed in the South. Nor were they safe from the perils that came about in King's Landing. The Rat's Nest thrived, it must have been eagerly awaiting the arrivals of the Old Wolf and his pups.

"It's time."

Robb was reluctant to release her, slowly prying himself from her embrace to become of her smile. Something she had done often regardless if happiness was something she was lacking. "I love you, Laisa. I hope I get to see you again one day."

She leaned forth, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Don't forget us."

Robb held her at a distance by the shoulders, studying her features, as he did with Sansa and Arya. Though, Sansa was in a mood and was awaiting her supposed one true love whilst Arya continued to make silly faces, hoping that her jests would assist in her memory.

He kissed her forehead, allowing himself one last hug before he put a considerable amount of distance between himself and her.

"Laisa the Fierce shall never be forgotten."

Her smile formed into a grin, "I hope not."

Robb assisted her in mounting Half Moon, and out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Viera and Grey Wind, Nymeria too, nuzzled at each other's necks. They, too, knew they were to never see each other again.

He resisted looking to Laisa once more, knowing he might act childishly and cling to her skirts as he did when he was a boy. He remembered, faintly, as he clung to her leg wailing and begging she not leave him. Not once did she shake him off and leave him to wallow in his tears, she simply picked him up into her arms and carried him to her destination. She hadn't gone, far as he originally thought, but to the practice yards. Both ten and eight, Laisa carried him on her little hip and placed him on the same saddle atop its rack, the same place Rickon now sat upon, watching as his sister loosed arrows into haybales marked with mock targets.

Every time she loosed a quill and it landed near or into the bullseye, he would make a flurry of commotion.

The memory remained fresh in his mind as he relived what childhood he cherished little of. And now, all he wanted was that peace to return.

Without thinking, Robb cupped his hands round his mouth and howled. Another fond memory, how the eldest of Stark children, Jon, too, communicated to one another in their youth.

Grey Wind had mimicked his cry, sounding much louder than Robb could force.

He could hear a response in the distance. Four howls.

A fifth and sixth, followed. Shaggydog and Summer.

It may have been ridiculous, childish, perhaps.

Arya had her head half way out the carriage, howling like the wild child that she was and laughing, too. Father happened upon the sound, though appeared to be shaking his head in disapproval, he was smiling. At least, that is what Robb presumed.

In the distance, he watched as Laisa reared her stallion to his hind legs, howling. Loudly and with pride.

Four Starks left home that day.

All Robb could pray for was their safe return.


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