Winterfell
Lysara Stark
It was dark, darkness was all that consumed her. Lysara inhaled sharply and looked to her left hand, that held a dim torch that slowly turned brighter as she descended down the stone steps. As she walked slowly down the steep steps, hitching up her skirts shakily in her right hand, an agonising scream made her still. Mother. The scream chilled her and she hurriedly ran down the steps, mindful of her dress and her eyes widened when she came to the realisation of where she was. The crypts, Lysara thought with a cock of her head. The one place in Winterfell where she did not feel welcomed nor liked. Lysara swallowed, letting her skirts fall back in place as her hand reached up and her long fingers clutched the ruby of her necklace as a form of comfort. The crypts were silent once more, the only sound heard was her own breath and she wondered briefly if she had imagined her mother's screams.
However as she made her way further into the crypt, there was no denying it was her mother when she saw three figures standing in front of her. The sight of them made her stomach twist and turn. It made her heart race from fear yet ache from pain and all she could do was stare at her mother. Her mother's face no longer had a light rose glow, her mother's face took on the colour of milk that had curdled. Her mother's throat was slashed to the bone and her mother's hollow eyes were void of emotion. And tears filled her eyes when she turned to the second figure. Father, Lysara thought solemnly. Her father, he had no head atop of his shoulders instead he carried his head in his hands...but it was her elder brother or at least what was left of him that truly frightened her.
He no longer had bright blue eyes, unruly auburn locks and a kind smile that would brighten even the darkest of nights...no. Instead of Robb's head, there was another fixed on his shoulders. Grey Wind, Lysara thought hopelessly. She swallowed thickly, dropping the touch in fright when he lifted his head towards her and bared his sharpened teeth to her. Lysara took a few steps back in terror and watched as the flames of the torch died instantly as it hit the wet ground.
"Winter is Coming," Her father tells her, his voice cracking like ice.
Lysara wanted to speak, to ask of her father how this came to be, yet she found herself unable to. She continued to stare on with wide grey eyes and clutched tighter onto her necklace that began to glow brightly. This was not her father nor her mother and brother. These beings were dead but the winds of winter had given them life it was not the doing of the Lord of Light's fire. Lysara desperately attempted to speak but was unable to produce a sound. She watches in despair as her mother holds two fingers to her throat, her vicious eyes never leaving her own.
"The North Remembers," Her mother informs her, her voice raspy and barely heard.
Her brother began to growl and snarl at her, gnashing his sharp teeth together. Lysara took hesitant steps back until her back collided with a statue, she frowned turning to face it and her mouth fell agape. Aunt Lyanna. The woman was stone, as she should be but the stone was covered in blood. The blood seeped from the statue's ears, mouth, eyes, nose and terrifying between her legs. A strong smell of roses and blood caused her to gag. Lysara's throat was hoarse, she wanted to scream and wake herself from the night terror. The crippling act of being unable to speak was just as frightening as seeing the fates of her family laid out in front of her. She curses herself for feeling so helpless.
"Lysara."
The voice was powerful and she did not doubt it was male but it wasn't her father nor brother. It was not coming from inside the crypts either. Lysara turned, looking over her shoulder slowly and saw a fire behind her along with three shadowy figures. She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the dry throat she had gained and turned to face the three figures fully, the power and fire from them were beckoning her closer to them, like a moth to a flame.
"Lysara."
It was then her eyes opened. In a few moments, she realised that she was within her chambers. Lysara looked to see her younger brother, Rickon curled into her side and his head on her stomach. His back rose and fell evenly showing that he was asleep. Her eyes trailed to the warmth and weight on her legs and saw Shaggydog was at her feet, panting loudly as he slept. Her eyes vigorously looked around her chambers until they landed on Osha, who was looming over her, her eyes cautious and wild like the lands she hailed from. Lysara's confusion subsided as she slowly propped herself up using her elbows, turning her attention fully to the Wildling woman.
"Did I startle you?" Lysara asked, raising an eyebrow to the woman, who nodded slowly and eyed her warily.
"Aye," Osha retorted. "What did you dream of this time? More dragons? Or was it wolves?"
A heavy knocked sounded on her door before she could answer, causing her head along with Osha's to snap towards the dark wooden door. Shaggydog raised his head and bared his teeth towards the door. She merely nudged the ever growing direwolf with her toes and looked to the door as it slowly opened only to reveal her older brother. Lysara looked on with great difficulty and conflict, knowing what was to come and what was to be said next. She found it difficult to look him in the eye...knowing that it would be the last time she ever does so.
"Lysara," Robb addressed.
"Brother," Lysara nodded stiffly. "I take it...you will be leaving this morn?"
Lysara observed Robb; he was dressed in his warmest cloak, a Stark cloak with heavy furs and as she peered at him, she could see his armour. It seemed he had tried to hide it from her sight. Her eyes reluctantly darted up to his face, her cool facade softened when she saw his fearful eyes and pained expression. He is not ready to say goodbye, Lysara thought to herself turning to face Rickon and she watched as he shifted in his sleep, a peaceful and unaware smile on his face. I do not think I will ever be ready.
"Promise me-" Robb began, "Promise me that you will protect our brothers. Our home. You have to promise me, Lysara. Bran and Rickon...you have to protect them..."
Lysara stilled, she could feel Osha shuffling to her side but all she could do was stare at Robb's ever hardening face. She watched his face turn from a boy to a man to a wolf in an instant. How can I protect Winterfell from drowning? Lysara thought coldly. Her dull grey eyes met his bright blue eyes and all she could do was nod softly.
"Promise me, Lysara."
Promise me, Ned.
Lysara stilled hearing the small, weak feminine voice from her recurring dreams and froze. She rose from her bed and made her way over to him, reaching out and cupped his broad shoulders. Lysara barely had any time to react before he threw his arms around her, engulfing her in hard armour and the warmth from the furs. She eyed the back of Robb's head before gently threading her fingers through his hair. She often found it strange, despite being younger than Robb, she felt as if she was the older sibling.
"I promise, Robb," Lysara vowed as he pulled back and their eyes met.
"You are the Lady of Winterfell now," Robb states firmly and she gripped his face tightly, searching the various emotions in his eyes.
"You're afraid," Lysara said but it comes out more of a question than it does a statement.
"Yes," He answered with a waver in his voice.
"You are the Young Wolf. You need not fear the light but rather the dark. You should fear the shadow that fights in your name when you are looking but plots against your name when you turn your back. Do not break any promises you have made," Lysara responds coolly. "I think it would do you well to keep Grey Wind at your side. All I see is red, Robb. I see you consumed by red. It rains over the halls. You must protect yourself. Do not trust anyone...life is safer that way."
"We will be together again soon, I promise," Robb said and gifts her a weak smile. No, no we won't. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her close for the last time. Lysara held him closer than she ever has before, for this would be the last time she sees, hears and feels him. It hurts. She wished to tell him, to tell him everything she dreamt of. To tell him that he was fighting a war that would never be won. Yet...she had to keep her secrets hidden...they could not find out. "I will be back soon. I will be back with mother, father and our sisters before you know it. I will not fail you."
"Goodbye, Robb." Forevermore.
"Goodbye, Lysara."
Lysara stared coldly out of the window from the shadows, she could see the banners and sigils of many Northern houses fly high and saw her brother riding out in front with Grey Wind loyally at his side. Her eyes landed on the traitorous being who rode at his side and her lips pursed in disdain. She held Rickon tightly in her hold, letting him rest his head on her shoulder as he wept gently for their family. The pack of wolves that belonged to Winterfell were separated. She watched as the army marched out of Winterfell.
Lysara turned away from the window and walked towards Brandon's chambers with Shaggydog and Osha trailing behind her and her brother. She looked to see Bran's chamber door was already open and stepped inside upon seeing Brandon was already sitting up and awake, petting Summer's soft fur. Her youngest brother began to squirm in her arms so she set him down and he immediately ran to Bran's side, jumping onto the bed beside him.
"He's gone, isn't he?" Brandon asked as she took a seat on the edge of the bed with her brothers. "Robb. Theon. They're all gone. All of them."
"Yes," Lysara confirmed.
"They will come back, won't they?" Bran questioned, causing her to look on with blank eyes. "We will all be together again. Robb said we would."
"No," Lysara answered truthfully, pulling Rickon into her lap. "They won't. We won't see them again. Not in this lifetime. Until that lifetime, I'll protect you. Both of you."
"Robb told us to look after you," Rickon informs her and turns to look up at her. "We're your brothers, he told us. We're meant to protect you."
"And I'm your elder sister. I will protect you from the night," Lysara tells him as she held her little brother close and kept her eyes trained on Bran. "The night is dark and full of terrors, I must burn all the terrors away with R'hllor's light. I am to rule Winterfell for now. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. We must remain strong. Together. If we are to withstand the Long Night...we need each other."
"Winter is Coming," Brandon swore to cause her to nod. She then reached over and took his hand in her own, clenching it firmly while resting her chin softly on Rickon's head.
"Winter is Coming," Lysara repeated icily. "And the dead come with it."
"I'm afraid," Rickon mumbled as he wiped his running nose on his sleeve.
"You know nothing of fear, my wild wolf," Lysara began coldly and rose from the bed, setting Rickon down beside Bran and approached the candles as they flickered. "The fear you hold now, keep it for when winter truly comes. The winds of winter will come and when they do...you will hear no prideful lions roar from their rock. No stags will graze upon the frozen fields. Nor will any roses bloom in their frostbitten meadows. The winter will freeze the Krakens and trouts where they swim. The flayed man will rot and wither. And when the snow falls, the breath of a dragon will not warm your halls. The winds of winter will bring forth the army of the dead and they will come...and the wolves will howl in the Long Night."
"The men of the Night's Watch-" Brandon began shakily. "They protect us, though."
"No," Lysara tells him quietly. "And when the wights roam our lands and they will...may R'hllor send forth Azor Ahai to bring back spring."
The Narrow Sea
Young Griff
Young Griff let his purple eyes settle on the waves that crashed against the Shy Maid. They were sailing for Westeros and all he could do was pace up and down the ship in anticipation of it. He was returning to his homeland. He was returning to his birth right. And his people. He would see to it that the three headed dragon banners would fly over Westeros once more. After consulting with Jon Connington, they were to conquer Griffin's Roost and then their next destination would be Storm's End, the ancestral home of House Baratheon. He was thirsty, thirsty for blood and could not wait to take Storm's End from them after what the Stags took from him.
My mother. My father. My sister. My throne. My Kingdom.
The men aboard the ship were drinking and eating their fill, after another successful raid. Instead of joining in with his men, he stared out at the waves that rocked the boat gently. He thought on the Iron Throne and the supposed claimants carefully, especially after hearing the death of Robert Baratheon. Young Griff hated the fact that he died, he hated the fact that he could not stick a knife in the bastard himself. Stannis and Renly Baratheon were powerful, he did not doubt that and also knew of the large army and lands they held. Ser Connington claimed it would be a more wise decision to take on Lord Renly first before taking on Stannis. His eyes flickered up to the sky that had swirling grey clouds, indicating that they would soon expect a storm but he couldn't help but be reminded of her.
"I will have both allies and enemies...will I not? Tell me, what do you know of House Stark? " Young Griff inquired as Jon made his way towards him.
The man was alike that of a father to him, the man was growing older and he grew more worried the closer they got to Westeros. Young Griff lifted up a small direwolf marker and held it to his face, inspecting its grey eyes and fierce, snarling features. Ser Jon looked surprised that he had asked that question, his eyebrows lifting up which caused his forehead to wrinkle significantly and Ser Jon turned to face him then, with a questioning look present on his face.
"I know plenty of House Stark," Jon stated, his eyebrows remaining raised.
"Tell me," He urged. "I wish to know."
"Eddard Stark is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he has been for years. And his wife, Lady Catelyn is from House Tully of Riverrun," Jon replies with a heavy sigh. "Lord Eddard has recently travelled to King's Landing to become Hand of the King. It is known. I do not know much other than that. He and his wife have six children, seven if you include the Stark bastard. Robb, Lysara, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. I don't know much about those Northerners... Now that Robert is dead...Joffrey has taken the throne. A war is coming in Westeros, boy. This war is between the living. Eddard Stark has been imprisoned, Lord Robb Stark has waged war against the Lannister's and the Baratheon boy who hold the throne...Lady Lysara rules Winterfell in their absence. I am contemplating on what would be best after laying siege to Griffin's Roost...do we take Storm's End or march straight for Winterfell...it would be easy enough to take the home run by a woman...however, I have heard some stories about that girl.
"Some?" Young Griff repeats curiously, tilting his head to the side. "Like what?"
"It does not matter, boy," Ser Connington said gruffly as a frown darkens his features. "What I want to know is, why are you asking about the bloody Stark's? Of all houses."
"Because-" He began, sucking in the sea air. "I wish to make the eldest Stark girl my bride."
"What?" Jon demanded, his eyebrows flying up once more as he turned to face him fully and clasped a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly as it to shake some sense into him, which he often tried to do. "By the Gods! Why would you want to marry a Stark? I don't understand. You don't even know her. You don't even know the North. Need I remind you what happened the last time fire met ice? A rebellion was started. The same rebellion that ended the Targaryen dynasty. The same rebellion that had your mother raped and murdered. The same rebellion that had your sister butchered. The same rebellion that killed your father. You would me much better off wedding your aunt, Daenerys. Or Arianne Martell. Do not be foolish."
"Daenerys?" Young Griff scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and looked to Jon with an amused look, a smirk steadily growing on his face. "I will not run to my aunt. Do not make me laugh. I am the only dragon that Westeros needs. Let her come to me. Let her grovel at my feet and then I may consider it. Besides, I doubt she will return to Westeros. Isn't she married to a Dothraki? If I take this Lysara Stark as my wife, it would mean that I would have the North and the Riverlands backing me, wouldn't it? And possibly the Reach at a stretch. Then I will have an army to face-"
"You cannot marry Lysara Stark," Jon interrupts and it was his turn to raise his brows.
"And why not? Is she already wed?" He asks.
"No..." Ser Connington trailed off with another heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Lysara Stark is a Red Priestess, therefore sworn to celibacy."
"And how would you know that?" Young Griff scoffs, raking a hand through his blue hair that held silver streaks which reminded him that he needed to dye it once more. In order to keep up appearances, like Lord Varys and Jon want. "You said it yourself, we are only hearing the stories of sailors and most if not all stories hold some fabrication. The she-wolf cannot possibly be a Red Priestess of R'hllor. You jest, Ser."
"I do not jest," Ser Jon said firmly. "I heard from the Spider himself. He has informed me about all of the houses. He does so once every two weeks. She apparently runs Winterfell."
"Nor do I," Young Griff retorted as he leant against the ship. "I will marry her, whether you like it or not."
"And how do you propose on doing so?" Jon asked, watching carefully. "The Stark's may be loyal and honourable...but they are fierce, their women even more so. They are hard to kill in a pack."
Author's Note: Hey! Hopefully you like chapter's eleven and twelve. Let me know what you think and if you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'd like to thank all of you for reading this story, for reviewing and for following and for making 'Of Wolves and Winter' as one of your favourites!
Reviews-
Keitzuro: Thank you, hopefully these chapters don't disappoint!
Guest 1: I'm afraid she isn't a Targaryen but she does seem to have a lot of Targaryen-like qualities.
Guest 2: Unfortunately, I don't plan on making Lysara a vampire but I agree it would be quite cool.
celticank: Hopefully you like chapter's eleven and twelve!
ZabuzasGirl: Thank you! I hope you like these two chapters!