The Snows of Winterfell – The First Song: Vengeance of the She-Wolf

VERSE ONE – THE SHE-WOLF

Line Two: Tybalt

Tybalt strolled through the ruins of Winterfell in the night, a fur cloak draped about his shoulders. His Lannister signet ring glistened in the moonlight as he strolled through the gardens. The wind tried to beat at him, but he refused to let it in, and drew it closer about his body; he had no idea how these Northerners were so accustomed to the cold—the descendants of the First Men were quite hardy indeed. His cleaning the hair off of his face didn't help reserve his warmth, either. He had been keeping himself washed and fed, but that certainly didn't help the fact that Ellaria had been giving him a more then cold shoulder. Whenever he would sit down to dine, she would get up to leave even if she hadn't finished.

As he walked, he thought of how all the violence had broken a family—hers, his, and too many more to account for. For him it was a hard concept to think of; Tybalt barely remembered his mother, and his father had emotionally parted ways with all of them the very same day; his sister was little more than a well-dressed whore, his older brother was a cocky knight who, while friendly enough, made no effort to even seem honorable—and dear, dear Tyrion was all but ignored by his family. The only family he had really ever felt any love for had been his uncle Gerion. Gerion was said to take after Grandfather Tytos' peaceful attitude—a true role model in Tybalt's eyes. He also had the unfortunate task of being a second son, and so naturally he and Gerion had something in common. He remembered being bounced up and down on his knee while singing songs like The Lion Who Lost His Roar and The Bear and the Maiden Fair.

Tybalt had loved Gerion. And then the jolly dreamer sailed off to Old Valyria and never returned, in search of a sword that had been lost for less than long enough already.

And Tybalt was left to the cold regard of his father.

The Lannister gave a sigh as he looked up at the moon, wishing his uncle, mother, and grandfather weren't forced to be punished for their relations' choices. He wished Ellaria didn't have to be punished, either. She often held a sorrowful expression when she though no one was watching her—even though she was always being watch, personally by Tybalt himself. He hadn't had a difficult time of noticing that the young Queen often wandered outside of her Hall alone, taking a nightly routine walk about the castle grounds. Tonight, he was glad to see, was open of those nights.

He heard the door to the gallery walk open and close, as he had committed the very same action when he had stolen from the Keep to come outside. He half turned to watch her, somehow delighted by the simple movements she made. She pulled her unlined, dark grey cloak tighter about her shoulders as she walked on, towards the Godswood. When Ellaria came closer he turned back to face the other way and used everything he had to feel her movements form then on. She surely must have seen him, however, he had felt more rather than saw her pause in her step some distance behind him, as though she were unsure of what to say after not speaking to him for days.

He remained still, so as not to startle her further, although he turned when he took note of a shift and saw that she was half turned to go. She shivered as an icy breeze lifted her skirts and brushed against her legs, and kept moving so as not to freeze where she stood. The young woman didn't seem so bothered by the frigid cold that whipped her hair from her shoulders than the recent ice that had settled into her heart; she had been little more than cruel to Tybalt these past few days, blatantly ignoring him whenever she caught sight of him- much to her men's delight he did not doubt. Tybalt understood, however, although he wished she would see that he wasn't who she made him out to be. He was sure she just couldn't stand to be reminded that a Lannister walked her halls, although it made him wonder why she had released him from his imprisonment and made him an Honored Guest. She was a woman he was sure did not want to seem weak to her Bannermen, and Tybalt was almost certain that her actions were beginning to make her seem weak—a mindset he did not want her men to carry with them.

He was very glad that she visibly mustered her courage and forced her chin into the air, moving to his side.

The clouds pulled away from the moon, bathing Winterfell in pale silver, white, and blue—it reminded him so much of those eyes that bore into him now. Without taking his eyes from above, Tybalt chuckled a bit after a few moments as his mood was lightened by the person he could never go long without seeing.

"Evening Your Grace."

"My Lord," she said softly, her breathe misting into the air. Clearing her throat, she asked him,

"Are you watching the moon?"

Tybalt gave a small nod. "Yes. And no. My eyes are looking at it but my mind... my mind is moving between Casterly Rock and Valyria."

"Your home? How reasonable..." Ellaria murmured, but then frowned slightly in what he read as confusion. It was actually rather endearing, the way she did that with such genuineness.

"But if I may ask, why Valyria?"

Tybalt turned fully towards her then, his eyes meeting hers. "That is where my uncle Gerion sailed off to and never returned. When I found out, I begged my father to give me a ship to look for him. Do you know what his response was?"

Here, he chuckled again before continuing with, "'The damn fool wanted to get himself killed then that's his problem. I'm not wasting my son on that joke of a brother of mine.' I never looked at my father the same way again after that. That is why Valyria."

Ellaria blinks, her expression intent upon listening; it was as if she was unable to look away from him. There must have been something in his green eyes that told her this was a something of a rare moment—as he never really talked about Uncle Gerion –and she didn't want to throw it away.

"You lied to me, then." She said suddenly, as if compelled to speak her mind. He frowned slightly in return with the full intention to ask for an explanation, but with a softer tone, she added,

"You have lost someone, Tybalt."

Ellaria tilted he head thoughtfully, staring at him intently—it was as if she didn't know that she hadn't been the only one to feel that pain and experience that grief, but he was more than willing to make up for what his family had done to hers in his own ways. She needed someone to connect to, it seemed.

Tybalt gives a short nod. "And I did what my father expected of me.

I shut out the fact that I loved him. I shut out everyone. Numbers, letters, and a quill were my friends a family. Gold was our joy. While the boys adored Cersei and the girls adored Jaime, I had to imagine someone actually ever adoring me. Sure I suppose I am kind of handsome but the only time I swung a sword I nearly chopped Tyrion's head off.

Father says I was even more of a failure since I didn't take his head."

His eyes wanted to reveal the sadness, to hold it there and let her see just how much he had been affected by the ordeal. Something wanting to appear on his face, but he forced down in the last moment. Ellaria had winced as his tone took a slightly darker turn than she had surely expected. The way he spoke of his family might have made him seem ungrateful, as hers was practically to longer present. That hadn't bene his intention, obviously, and he would have apologized in his next breathe. Abruptly, however, he wanted to ignore the fact that she was a Stark and he was a Lannister, that she was a Queen and he was a Lord—that they were sworn enemies in all things natural, the Lion and the Wolf. Tybalt wondered if Ellaria would choose to see him as still a man, and that she was still a woman; they were beings whom the Gods forced to succumbed to themselves, to their passions and their rages—and to the treatment they were given.

"At least now I know that I am no longer alone, in the fact that I am alone," Ellaria said as she searched his eyes for what he was hiding from her.

"I knew your father once. I thought him an unloving man, even then; all he cared for was the praise his name was showered with. Cersei is... Cersei. There are no words I can say to hide her true nature save that she is but a force to be reckoned with; she is shrewd and cunning and manipulative. I must say that your brother Tyrion is quite the character. He is whom I would favor, above the rest of your family. For a 'little imp' as Tywin so cruel puts it, Tyrion has a knack for getting himself both in and out of trouble with his words alone, I have seen it. Your brother Jamie is handsome, yes—but Seven Hells! His handsomeness is too much for me, and I find that it is unbearable to be around for too long..."

The moon was blanketed by the clouds again, and Ellaria paused and gave him a sideways glance. "Your handsomeness, however, suits me just fine."

Tybalt gave a heartfelt chuckle and smiled at her. "You do me honor, Your Grace. To be fair as well... you are quite the beauty too."

He felt his heart tug a bit in his chest at her sidelong glance and how her beautiful blue eyes caught the last hints of moonlight like a gem. He turned his eyes fully to her, the pain of his past subsiding beneath the compliments she gave him, and a fine red brow lifted slightly.

"So you can smile? I might have never known," Ellaria shook her head slightly and lifted her hood to block the wind, forced to lift her head in order to see him better.

"Why do you look at me that way?" she asked reluctantly, her brow knitting.

Tybalt raised a shiny golden brow in his own response. "What other way would I look at you?"

Apparently unable to settle on one answer, she said,

"There must be several other ways, I would imagine. Seeing as I have held you in little more than a cage since we left Riverrun, save for the past few days. How are you feeling, by the way? I apologize for not asking you sooner, I was..."

She was babbling a little, and he was sure she was about to say something else when she settled for concluding with,

"I was preoccupied..."

Tybalt rolls his eyes. "It's alright. I'm used to having people preoccupied. My father didn't have any time for me because he was always "preoccupied" with matters. Those matters often being that he was with Jaime or Cersei."

Just then he realized his voice was becoming bitter so he quickly got back on track. "But I'm alive and well. You've treated me kindly for the uncle of the boy who called for your father's head. I cannot and will not complain."

"That's not what I meant," Ellaria began to say, but tried to start over. "You are not your brothers, nor your sister, but yourself. You are Tybalt, and you are good. I would rather preoccupy myself with you than any other Lannister a thousand times over."

Her words much not have registered in her mind for a few moments—much to Tybalt's personal delight in watching her –but he was able to tell when they did, and her face was set painfully aflame.

"I did not mean—I mean, but not in that way... Not to say that that would so terrible, but—I mean—Seven Hells, never mind!" Ellaria huffed crossly, throwing up her hands.

A laugh escaped his lips and blew out into the cold air as he kept chuckling. He turned to her with a smile. "Then allow me to say that I'd rather preoccupy myself with you than with your bannermen."

His emerald eyes still sparkled a bit even outside of the moonlight as his white teeth flashed at her, the laughter rolling off his tongue with ease.

"But of course you would, Tybalt. That still makes nothing better!" Ellaria rolled her eyes at him, unable to keep a small smile from her face.

After a few moments of having a more silent laugh to himself, Tybalt noted that she looked then towards the Godswood, cloaked in a deep darkness.

"Would you escort me? I must pray before I sleep."

He nods and proffers her his arm. "But of course. I've always been fascinated with the Godswoods. Makes the Old Gods seem so much more... alive than the Seven."

"Mother held to the Faith and so taught us their ways, but Winterfell's Godswood has stood for the past 10,000 years. The Faith has nothing like this that anyone knows about. I guess one could say that my siblings and I are more attuned to more the Old Gods than Faith? It is often hard to tell."

Ellaria took his arm and started into motion, walking towards the trees; she seemed unbothered for a torch, and she knew this place better than he ever could.

Tybalt nods. "We Lannisters aren't really one for gods, so you'll excuse me if I'm not inclined towards either the Old or New."

"Fair enough," was all she said as they broke through the dense trees and found them in the wood.

Instinct led Ellaria's feet as she led her escort through the wood silently for a ways, and sense a feeling he wouldn't recognize led Tybalt as he walked along at her side. It smelled of earth and a broodiness that would not go away, of the centuries that the wood had been dark, even by day. She led Tybalt past the Sentinels, Oaks, and Ironwoods, the Hawthorn, Ash, and Soldier Pines. Soon, they found the ancient Weirwood tree, with its blood red leaves and bone-white bark. Its melancholy face cried tears of blood, and Ellaria kept her breathe even so as not to disturb the peaceful quiet.

She reached out gingerly to brush her fingers against the crying face, as though she could sense warmth surging from the living wood beneath them.

"This tree is Winterfell," she said quietly. "Sansa once told me that she felt as though the Old Gods were watching with a thousand unseen eyes..."

Tybalt moved his fingers against it as well as he inspected it. "It's crying..." His voice is sad as he looks at it.

"All Weirwoods cry, Tybalt. As I said, this is Winterfell. Winterfell is empty—this tree weeps. The wolves are slaughtered, and this tree weeps. The earth is burned and the Keep crumbled- this tree weeps."

Ellaria drew her hand away; in the moonlight, they could plainly see smears of dark red on her fingers and the bark of the tree.

"Winterfell bleeds—this tree bleeds."

Tybalt looks into the eyes of the Weirwood only to be blown away with guilt. His family did this. He might as well have done this. He had always thought of the Lannisters as the good lions who defend their claim. Now... now they were killers of fathers, mothers, and kicked the orphans into the dirt. In that moment, he hates who he is...

She brought him back with a squeeze shoulder, and held a finger to her lips when he looked to her, signaling him to be quiet. Ellaria gave a heavy sigh and sat down on the cold, hard ground, guiding by his hand as his held hers for too brief a moment; she turned to lean her back against the tree and closed her eyes, a prayer on her lips as it surely always was whenever she came to the Godswood. She prayed silently and quietly, her breathe even and unlabored, her whispering voice as soft as the rustling of the canopy leaves.

Tybalt went over at a respectful distance and watched her silently as the moon came back out to cast its light on her. At that moment, she could have been the Maiden for all he knew. Her beauty was enhanced in such light as the silver beams reflected off her fiery hair and made her skin seem to glow. He watched as he heard her whispers going about like the wind, making him shiver.

Yes, it was official. Tybalt Lannister was going insane.

A small breathe escaped Ellaria's nose and an icy wind snapped at her, causing her to flinch and break her concentration. She nearly cursed before she caught herself, but was able to intertwine her fingers and settled deeper against the tree, as though to pray harder. He watched as Ellaria stayed that way, in the frigid, blood-freezing air for what seemed like hours, although only minutes had passed. When she was done at last, she opened her eyes to reveal a sheen of unshed tears. The young woman stood up on shaky legs and braced a hand against the tree. Looking up into his eyes, she spoke with complete and utter honesty in a rasp,

"I fear they will not hear me. I have been praying since my twin brother was murdered, Tybalt, and I fear that none of the Old or New will hear me."

Her fingers clenched into a fist, and she raked a hand through her hair in frustration.

"None of my prayers have been answered—my sister has not come home because no one will hear me..."

He was there in an instant, a comforting hand falling on her shoulder as he helped her stay steady. He moved her chin up to look into his eyes as he spoke softly.

"It may be bad to associate you with him but... when my mother had trouble birthing Tyrion, my father spent hours praying in the Sept. He prayed for hours on end, and when my mother died giving Tyrion life... he broke. I don't remember how many pots and plates and statues he smashed but last thing he did was tear apart the sept in a rage.

When we asked him about it he replied with, 'They didn't listen. Now I will make them.' When the gods do not listen, we have to do what WE can. We have to turn prayers into goals. You want your sister? Gods don't do that kind of work. You will have to do that.

And I will help you."

Ellaria went very still within the close proximity of himself, even when a tear fell onto her cheek. He was close enough so they could feel their natural warmth reaching out to each other. His golden hair was silver in the pale blue moonlight, and his eyes were a dark green that reminded one of the Wolfswood in the summer—they were so deep and so green and so bright that he felt as though they were drawing her in. Her soft skin was burning him, especially where their flesh made contact; his manhood preened in approvingly as he felt her cheeks catch fire and mimic her hair still.

But she started then, and smoothly took his hand in hers to remove her chin from his grasp. She then stepped out of his reach—it took everything in him m not to pull her back –and into the trunk of the heart tree; clearing her throat several times, she tore her gaze from his and replied,

"Y-yes—uhm, it is bad to associate me with your father. For one thing, I am no man," she gave a small, awkward laugh.

"But, ah, I suppose I would warn you first, if I'm about to denounce the Gods and annihilate my mother's Sept as though I were Aegon the Conquerer..."

Ellaria began to nod, and looked to him again.

"I could use some help in getting my sister back home, if you are willing to give it. I fear your father would crush me otherwise..." she cleared her throat again, and brushed the freshly fallen snow from her skirts and cloak.

A man's shout called her attention to the forefront, and she paused as she heard several men calling her name.

Ellaria frowned slightly, she asked Tybalt as she moved past him, "What could be going on?"

Tybalt shrugged and let her lead, "After you Your Grace."

As he followed her he shivered a bit. He had been close to her so that her breath was felt on his chin even now. Her eyes had been shimmering pools that he couldn't help but get lost in. Her hair was the same color as the Weirwood leaves above them. And in the moonlight, her figure was exquisite. Shapely, lovely, but strong and commanding as well. In his foolishness, he had disturbed her and forced her, and he knew it was true. She wouldn't think of him like that. Even now she backed away.

Him and her, they couldn't be together. He was a dishonorable Lannister; a man with gold hair and emerald eyes. A vicious lion. She was an honor born Stark; a Red Wolf with ocean eyes. She would marry a proud northern lord, most like. And he, knowing his father, would be married to some ally of the Lannisters. Certainly not as beautiful as the wolf before him and probably even less intelligent.

But he would not give up.

He would help her. Even if it killed him.

And if it did, he'd come back and enjoy haunting Cersei.