Winterfell

Lysara Stark

It has been two moon's worth since her brother had left for war and it has been two moon's worth that she has run Winterfell for. R'hllor had answered her prayers and had gifted her the insight she needed in order to run her home...smoothly. It was not a position she eased into, it took great care and planning for her to do so. If she was to run the North and to hold Winterfell, she needed to be in the right state of mind and needed to have the right set of minds to help her.

Lysara's council consisted of Maester Luwin, who gave her the information and advice she needed. Though, he was too peaceful. On the other hand, she had Osha, the Wildling woman who was in debt to her, she was a gifted woman...when it came to violence, of course. Although she preferred peace and violence...she looked for a more political approach rather than discussing peace terms or waging war like her brother was doing against the Lannister's and the Iron Throne.

Lysara had received many letters from her mother and brother, telling her of news. Though, it was news she had already foreseen and ultimately guessed. Her mother had written to her of how they convinced the ever conniving and deceiving Lord Walder of House Frey. The Late Lord would late her brother and his army cross the bridge but for a price. Her brother and youngest sister, Arya were to be married. The thought of Arya marrying Waldon Frey, reduced her to tears. Lysara had laughed so much that evening she ever has in her lifetime. The main problem she faced was rallying the weaker and the more cowardly houses for her older brother.

Lysara stared into the fire, that flickered dimly in her chambers, a blank look present on her face as she adjusted her necklace and let her dark locks drape across her shoulders like silk. She closed her eyes, taking in a sharp and deep breath to prepare for what was to come. Lysara had dreamt of her father the night before, he no longer had his head. She knew it was to happen, it was bound to with the likes of the bastard Joffrey.

"Lysara."

Lysara looked to the door of her chambers to find Maester Luwin standing there, a solemn expression on his face and a letter held by his nimble, shaking fingers. She stood slowly from where she was kneeling, looking on as tears filled her eyes slowly but she did not dare let them fall from her eyes. Lysara watched intently with eyes ablaze as the Maester Luwin walked towards her, handing her the letter with a solemn look etched onto his features.

"He's dead," Lysara said numbly. Her eyes darted from the letter to Maester Luwin. "Isn't he?"

Lysara opened the letter and took in each word she read, her father was no longer walking this word. He was gone. Executed. Her hands trembled as a burning and seething rage filled her as she continued to read it, unwillingly letting the tears fall from her eyes this time as she let the news slowly sink in. He was beheaded. Her father had lost his head outside the Great Sept of Baelor. She rolled her shoulders, wiping the tears harshly from her face and stalked off. Maester Luwin called after her but she paid him no mind as she stormed down the halls.

She stared at the words, reading them over and over, letting the realisation of them sink in. Lysara folded the piece of parchment over and placed it in the sleeve of her dress. The Lannister's had killed her father. The bird that mocked him had betrayed him. Lysara cursed herself then, the tears falling bitterly from her grey eyes. Kill them all, Lysara prayed to R'hllor. She clasped her shaking hands together tightly, letting her nails dig into her flesh. Do not soothe my wrath nor vengeance until the lions roar no longer. Until the bird no longer mocks us.

"Kill them all..." Lysara whispered viciously, eyeing the burning candles with hate and threw her hands against the wall, gripping the rough stone as she tried to keep herself standing while her knees grew weak and knocked together harshly with every step she took. As she took a further step, she collapsed to her knees with a harsh sob."All of them."

"Lady Lysara?"

Lysara looked over her shoulder with bloodshot eyes, her eyes met the saddened eyes of Maester Luwin. She knew what he saw, he saw no Lady nor a woman. He saw her as the babe of Lord Eddard Stark and his Lady wife, Catelyn. He saw the same babe he helped birth ten and six years ago. He saw no woman. He saw a girl, a girl of ten and six. Lysara let her eyes flutter close, despising the wetness she felt on her pale face.

"I want them dead," Lysara spits fiercely, reopening her eyes. "I want them to die. I want them to bleed. I want them to burn."

"They will, my Lady," Maester Luwin promised, bending down and took her hands in his own. Her eyes looked down, trying to reason why her hands stung and her eyes widened at what she saw. The skin was peeling from the palms of her hands, she saw blood and bits of brick in her nails and had several nail marks deeply embedded in her skin. He covered her hands with his own and helped her up, carrying most of her weight as he escorted her back to her chambers, where he began to tend to her self inflicted wounds.

"Brandon and Rickon-" She began hopelessly but he shook his head, hushing her.

"Osha," He said simply before settling back into his work. They know.

The moment she had stood up again from her bed, she heard the sound of wolves howling mournfully and closed her eyes, breathing gently through her nose. The door to her chambers swung open and her eyes opened once more, looking over to the door. Her youngest brother came sobbing to her, rushing to her side. Lysara hoisted him up immediately despite the pain in her hands and held him as he flung his arms around her neck, choking her slightly as he wept. Lysara stared on blankly at the wall, listening to her brother sobbing into her shoulder and hair, that she could feel steadily dampening.

Lysara found herself unable to hear him anymore, except feel his body shake violently from his screaming. She began to rock Rickon back and forth, continuing to stare at the wall with a frown forming on her face as she felt her own tears slide down her face and land on Rickon's unruly and untamed hair. She sat motionlessly then, her eyes darting to Maester Luwin who took his exit from her chambers and continued to hold her younger brother as he started to drift off.

It did not take Rickon long before he was asleep, his dreams would no doubt be restless but she prayed to R'hllor that he would burn the darkness away and let the light come forth. She gently laid him down on her bed, pulling up various warm furs and skins, tucking him in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a dark red mark on his face. Lysara stood and looked to her chamber door, when the soft crying of Brandon seeped through and echoed throughout her chambers, hauntingly.

Lysara wiped the wetness from her tear stained face and picked up her red skirts and briskly left her chambers, she made a short yet agonising journey towards Bran's chambers and saw the door to them was open wide. She appeared at the door, dropping her skirts and let her hands clasped together, folding them across her lap as she saw her brother weep.

"Brandon," Lysara said as the familiar sting was in her eyes.

"L-Lysara..." He murmured, looking up at her from sobbing into Summer's fur.

Lysara fell silent, unable to say anything that would make this better for nothing would nor would it make anything better. She simply hitched up her skirts once more made her way to Bran's bedside and lay beside him, letting his head rest on her chest as he sobbed. Her eyes met Summer's yellow and they exchanged the same look of sorts. A look of vengeance. She lay with Brandon, keeping her arms wrapped around him as he sobbed. Lysara's eyes looked to the candles that were dimly lit compared to the fire inside of her. She held her brother until he fell still but even then she continued to hold him, despite having fell asleep.

"I will not let anything harm you, I promise," Lysara swore darkly and pressed a kiss softly to his tear stained cheek. "I will burn the world if I must."

It has been two days since their father's death and it has grown more complicated for her since then. The burning within her continued and it felt as if it would never vanquish. Lysara found it strange, her powers and her visions were growing more frequent and more powerful. They left her severely aching. She knows that history does truly find itself repeating, more so since their father's death. Rickon had refused to leave her side, even with kind words and coaxing, he would not listen. Lysara had attempted many a time to leave him in the hands of Old Nan, Osha and Maester Luwin but he would be brought to tears by the mere thought of her leaving.

You'll leave, her brother's voice echoed in her mind. You'll leave, like father. Like, mother. And you won't come back!

Lysara had assured him she would not leave this world but he refused to listen to her. It was in this time, she cursed the stubbornness of wolf children. Now, wherever she went, he followed even when she went to pray to the Lord of Light. Lysara often found herself confused when waking from her dreams but so did the thought of never hearing nor seeing her father again. Lysara was also having dreams of becoming Brandon's direwolf, Summer. And it made her brows furrow further as a thunderous look took hold on her impassive features as she stared on at Harold of House Stout walking slowly into the hall.

"My Lady Stark, I held my allegiance to Lord Eddard of House Stark," Lord Stout stated and his lips pursed into a sneer. "I hold no allegiance to some boy. My mother always told me to never look down upon women but forgive me for saying this my Lady but how are you, a girl of ten and six capable of ruling Winterfell? And the North, no less whilst your brother plays soldier."

"You swore an oath to House Stark, did you not?" Lysara asked calmly, her voice cool and collected. "I have come to the understanding that you have received word to send out your bannermen to aid my brother, your King, Robb Stark. Yet, I do not see your sigil raised to help him nor do I hear of any of your men fighting to keep the North free from Lannister rule. You may not have sworn an oath to my brother but you did swear it to my father, Eddard. Your liege Lord was unlawfully killed. Are you telling me that you do not wish to defend the North and avenge your Lord?"

"M-My Lady-" Lord Stout began, looking shocked and taken aback as his brown eyes widened but she could sense he was growing more agitated and angered as he spoke, taking a few steps forward. "I loved Lord Ned. All of the North loved him. He was a noble man...that is just it, he was. I will not send my men to fight some foolish boy's war for a dead man!

"King Robb," Lysara informs him sharply. "My brother went to war the moment they hailed my father a traitor, the moment they took my sisters hostage. My brother had fought many wars when my father was alive and still continues on his crusade to rescue my sisters, Sansa and Arya, who are currently being held hostage by the Lannister's. He still fights. As do many other of the houses sworn to House Stark. Yet...here you stand in my halls, telling me that I cannot run my own home."

"It's not our brother's fault," Bran speaks up, gritting his teeth causing her to glance at him. "He didn't choose this. He didn't ask for this. Any of this."

"He may not have asked for this, my Lord," Lord Harold said. "He called his banners and-"

"You refused," She interrupted coolly, causing him to splutter and his face to steadily redden. "I know not of the words of your house, Lord Stout. Perhaps it is because you have never done anything to gain them? The blood of the First Men runs through my veins, as it does my brothers, as it did my father and as it does your blood. We must stand together. We are no cowards. I do not cower nor does my brother. You will not cower either. Do you remember your vows?

"Of course, I remember, foolish girl!" The man sneered, causing her to lift an eyebrow.

"That is good to hear,stupid man," Lysara responded. "Tell me, do you have women at Goldgrass?"

"Aye. Why would you ask such a question, my Lady?" He grits out, his eyebrows lifting causing the skin around his eyes to wrinkle.

"Really? They must be very scarce considering you travelled two weeks worth with an army just to look upon a woman running her household and home," She drawled, her face blank. "I hope that is not the very reason you travelled to Winterfell. Your men have terrorised Wintertown. Your men have eaten our food, drank our drink and have slept in our home. The women of the brothel arrived at the castle doorstep traumatised at the very prospect of you and your men rudely barging your way into their home. Therefore, I pray you have a better reason to visit Winterfell other than this."

"I do," He replied, his voice was wavering but her eyes widened when he knelt, looking up at her. "I beg forgiveness, my Lady."

"You are forgiven," Lysara replied, waving him off dismissively. "I expect you are here due to the scorched earth."

"How did you-" Lord Harold began, his brows furrowed in confusion but she interrupted him.

"I am afraid news travels fast," Lysara says as she clasps her hand together and lay them on the table.

"Goldgrass. It is my home. The little fields and crops we have, they have destroyed and burnt. The rivers and wells, they have destroyed. Our land has been ravaged. I have turned to many houses excuse me, my Lady, that I thought would be more capable as I knew you were...ruling over Winterfell in place of your brother. My people are starving..." He trailed off. He is a proud man, Lysara thought with her eyebrow arched. He does not want to grovel to a woman. "I...I need help. I will not accept anything...please, my Lady Lysara."

"Winter is Coming, Lord Harold," Lysara tells him before continuing, turning to face Maester Luwin. "We have crops, do we not? How much of our crops do you reckon we can give him?"

"We can spare a fifth of our crops," Maester Luwin informed her with an approving nod. "I trust that will be enough?"

"I-I believe it will," Lord Harold stammered before his gaze diverted to her. "I thank you, my Lady."

"I know of our ways, as do you..." She nodded, her grey eyes focused on him. "I expect you will offer my brother an army in return?"

Lord Harold Stout nodded firmly, before turning on his heel and walked out of the hall. Lysara rolled her shoulders, releasing her hands that had been wrapped around the armrest and relaxed, leaning her head back against the furs that had been draped over the neck of the wooden chair. It had physically exhausted her, more so when she prayed to R'hllor at night. Lysara looked to her younger auburn haired brother with a small, barely visible smile.

"Father would be proud," Bran stated softly causing her to stiffen and her smile to fade. "He would be proud of you, Lysara."

"As he would of you," Lysara responds trying to keep her voice from cracking.

Promise me, Lysara.

Bran Stark

He felt off. He woke up and felt odd. It was due to his dream. He had dreamt of his direwolf, Summer. He did not exactly dream of him, he dreamt that he was the wolf. Lysara insisted that they travel to the Godswood and he couldn't help but agree. Bran hated the fact that he has been held in the castle for days on end, having to watch from his chambers in envy as his elder sister takes their younger brother into the woods with her. Bran looks to his sister, who was deep in prayer and decides not to disturb her and instead turns his attention to Osha, who shoves a plant in his face. A pain relieving herb, Osha had insisted to him.

"I'm not in pain," Bran says weakly as Hodor set him down next to the small pond.

"You dream, don't you? Like your sister," Osha asks.

I hope not, Bran thinks. Lysara frightened him with her dreams. He remembered when they were younger, she used to tell them scary stories derived from what she had dreamt and now...they were coming true. It terrified him that the dreams brought his sister much pain and he couldn't do anything to help. He felt weak and at times, pathetic. He was her brother, he was meant to protect her, not the other way around. Bran looked to see his sister mumbling things incoherently but chose to ignore them.

"I don't dream...not like her."

"We all dream, little Lord," Osha informed him. "Your sister dreams of things yet to come, doesn't she? What's to say you don't?"

"I don't dream," Bran insists but his thoughts still remained on his sister's dreams. He dreamt of her sometimes, in his dreams. A man of silver kidnapped her, surrounded her by fire and he watched hopelessly as the fire consumed and burnt everything away but them as they remained locked in an embrace. Bran looked up to see a red comet pass by in the dusk sky and his eyes widened significantly in wonder, "I have heard men talk about the Red Comet. They say that it's an omen. I think it means Robb will have a great victory in the North."

A scream suddenly was heard and it caused his attention to turn towards Lysara and he looked on in horror as she collapsed into the fire. He and Rickon let out shouts and screams as his sister fell into the flames, her dress set alight immediately. Osha's eyes widened as she dropped the leaves and rushed to his sister, the woman quickly dragged her away from the roaring flames, the dancing fire seemed anger in away at the fact that it did not get to consume them. Osha patted and batted out the flames that had since turned crimson material of his sister's dress black. Rickon started to cry, running over to their unconscious sister's side. He refused Hodor's help and pushed his upper arms up and crawled over until he was at his sister's side. And his eyes widened when he took in her face.

His sister had not been burnt. Although that was not what made his eyes widen, it was the blood. Her nose, eyes, ears and mouth was dripping with blood. Osha tilted Lysara's head gently to the side, letting the blood trickle from her mouth and it seemed, to prevent her from choking. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached over and shook his sister's arm frantically, sobs rising in his throat but he pushed them back harshly.

"L-Lysara..." He started, shaking her roughly. "Wake up! Lysara!"

"W-What's wrong with her?" Rickon wept frightfully as he stared at her bloody face.

"I-I don't know..." Bran said hopelessly, looking towards Osha. "I..I...what's wrong with her?"

Osha merely ignored him and wrapped her arms around Lysara's neck, hoisting her up. He could hear his sister choke on her own blood. The tears continued to fall from his face as she passed his sister to Hodor, who cradled her gently in his arms, murmuring the same words to her in a soft mantra. The dark haired woman looked to him and managed to lift him up, hoisting him into her arms.

"Lysara!"