"Now, remember what I told you. If there is any problem, any problem at all, you can call either me or your mother." Rickard tells his oldest daughter. Sara nods along to her husband's words with a small smile on her face. "And don't let your sister stay up too late. I know it's Friday, but I will not have her tired tomorrow. You know how Maega is when she's tired."

"Okay, I get it!" Daeny mumbles, crossing her fingers behind her back. "I'll take care of everything. You guys go out and have fun."

They mean well, her parents do, yet Daeny wants to shout at them to leave already. They do this every Friday with regularity for as long as Daeny can remember. When it was just her they would call Mrs. Karstark to watch her. Daeny had hated that. But now she is in charge. As the older sister she has to watch over Maega and see that everything is how it should be.

Usually she would go to her room to read, or she would work on the various projects and assignments she had. But not tonight. Tonight she has other plans. Right after Maega finishes washing the dishes, like she has promised, she will continue reading Lyanna's story. Daeny nearly grinned at the thought. All day today she has been thinking about it. Why she didn't even hear Mrs. Wolf prattle on in class about the incontestable value of Charles Dickens. Dickens is an alright writer, Daeny reckons, but he has nothing of this story she's reading, as such she won't bother to listen to the teacher build the man a pedestal. Lyanna Stark, on the other hand, she does want to hear about.

"Okay. Everything is settled then." Sara straightens Rickard's tie. "You girls take care. If you're hungry look in the fridge. If you don't want anything from there, we've left you money-"

"By the Venetian vase, I know, mom." Why aren't they leaving? "Maega and I will be just fine. We're big girls." Though they seem unconvinced the parents smile at her. "You'll be late."

"Quite right," Rickard agrees, looking down at his wristwatch. "Let's go Sara and leave the young ladies to their own business." He leans down to kiss his wife.

There is something disturbing about seeing one's parents kiss. Daeny rolls her eyes and produces a low whine. She turns around and calls her sister. She must have finished doing those dishes by now. "Come on, Maega. Mom and dad are leaving."

"Coming!" Her little sister is as good as her word for nor a moment later she bounds down the hall, wet skin shining in the light. "Bye mom! Bye dad! Have fun!"

"Bye sweetie," Sara replies, kissing her youngest daughter's cheeks. Then she kisses Daeny's. "Bye darling. You have fun too." The process is repeated with their father and then the patents are off and it's just the two girls, all alone, in the house.

"Lock the door," Daeny instructs and then come up to your room. I'll get us some hot tea and biscuits and then I'll come up too."

"Let operation A.S.R. begin!" Maega excitedly cries.

"Operation A.S.R.?" Daeny repeats dumbly. "You say the strangest things. But Maega does not hear her, so the elder sister goes to the kitchen to retrieve what is needed. By the time she gets up, Maega has pulled the book from under the bed and it stays open on the sheets.

Daeny hops on the bed and passes a cup of tea to her sister. The other she places on the nightstand. "I'll start reading now," she announces.

280 AL

The wheelhouse was a nightmare to be ridden in. Lyanna had wanted to ride her mare, but ladies did not ride and she was now fully a lady. Old Nan had joined her and would be staying with the young girl until she had her first blood. After that it would be up to her husband to find her proper companions. Lyanna had rolled her eyes at that, but she was forced to accept it whether she liked it or not.

Old Nan was combing her long hair while at the same time speaking of her strange tales. "The Wildlings are a strange lot, my darling," the crone murmured. "Aye, they are. Their women fight alongside the men and they only share the furs on a man who wins them. He must best them in combat to have them. Strange lot."

To Lyanna's ears that sounded like paradise. If only she were a Wildling woman. "Beyond the wall I could have had a chance." She would not have had to be the wife of a man she did not want. "It is a pity."

"Nay, child, no pity. The Wildling are a strange folk. They thrive and grow like the gnarled branches of trees. But there is danger, great danger. It is no place for a lady. No place for a lady. They give their children to the cold death. They give them up for safety, fools. They are not safe. No one is safe."

One of the many perks of having grown up in Winterfell was that she had become accustomed to these ramblings which did not make any sense. Old Nan was fond of telling her scary stories of otherworldly beings. "The Other aren't real, Nan."

"You think, child?" The old woman cackled pulling on the braid she had been working on. "They are real, summer child. They are as real as you and I." But Lyanna wishes she was as real as the Others. "They come in the long night. Cold and foul. They spared none the last they ruled over the realm. Aye, Kings or sheppards, they all died, succumbed to the freezing cold. Not even the babes and women heavy were shown mercy. What do you know of the White Walkers, summer child?"

"Do stop, Nan. I am no summer child. It is in Winterfell that I was born and raised. I am Winter." Old tales, Lyanna dismissed Nan's words with nary a thought. If she were to believe everything she heard, where would that leave her? White Walker? For shame, those were stories meant to scare children into submission. "I will hear no more of this nonsense. You claim I am a lady, then as a lady this is my directive. No more talk of fictitious beasts."

"T'was a Stark, you know? Who bedded the Winter Queen. Aye, a Stark he was and she his icy lover." Gnarled hands rested on supple arms. "Stark and winter, aye, tied together, bound forever."

Sighing deeply Lyanna fought the urge to shake the woman's grip. A whole moon of listening to such talk, she was going insane. "May the gods protects us then."

"They have no power here," the old woman said before starting to hum softly. She dropped the braid, half unfinished, leaving it to Lyanna to do the rest. The crone stared into nothingness.

Knowing little would come out of pestering the woman when she was so, Lyanna settled back against the cushions. They were nearing the hold of her husband. Lyanna fancied she could feel the salty scent of the sea in the air. Cliffs and waters, abrupt cliffs and freezing waters. A watery grave would be her solace once she bled her first. Storm's End hadn't always been the main domain of House Baratheon. Long ago when the name Baratheon was bore by a Targaryen bastard it had been the castle of House Durrendon. With the fall of Argilac the Arrogant it became his daughter's. But war made cowards out of men and cowards were monsters. They had Argella Durrendon bound in chains and given to Orys Baratheon. 'Ours is the fury' had been her words. Baratheon had taken them and the seal. Interloper. Lyanna thought with dread about the seal of her own House. Were the Starks to lose their rulership how would she feel to see her words and her direwolf tied to the name of another. For Lyanna was a Stark no matter what the Septons said. She was a wolf, and when the time was right her fangs would tear through the stag's neck. Noble animal or not, did Baratheon think that she would bow to a by-blow, when she had the blood of kings in her veins? The Kings of the North, the king Beyond-the-Wall. The strength of the First Men, the wildness of the direwolf. She would not be cowed by a pair of horns when her claws could cut far deeper. Argella Durrendon and she, they were so very close to reflecting the same image, yet Lyanna promised to herself that she would not do as the other woman had done. For his fury could not withstand Winter and Lyanna planned to be Winter to her very bones.

Storm's End was a giant looming before them on sharp cliffs. Lyanna had looked out the small window she had been provided with. There was little to be seen, yet she could see Storm's End. Winterfell was probably grander and yet how could men build such things. Nay, it must have been the work of giants. Those heavy stones and the sheer force of its structure. But of course that meant nothing. Dragons could burn such a place to the ground, they could fry the inhabitants in the blink of an eye. Harrenhal had been a lesson to all of Westeros. Balerion the Black Dread. Meraxes. Vhaghar. Lyanna though of wings big enough to span the whole of Robert's men. She thought of rivers of fire. Dreadful. To die burned alive. It had been the fate of Harren. It still haunted his castles some said. Men went to sleep and dreamed of fire and when they woke they had burn marks covering them, that was if they woke at all. Some would just disappear into the night, presumably turned into ash and blown away by the wind. Mayhap Lyanna ought to convince her husband to visit Harrenhal with her.

"My lady, step out of your shelter and come upon my horse," Robert Baratheon's voice boomed just as the wheelhouse came to a sudden halt. "Come now."

Lyanna snarled, but she obediently stepped outside and gave the man a heated glare. "I thank you, my lord, for the kindness." For he might have seen it as a kindness to have her hoisted upon his horse. But she did not. It was humiliating, to be thus presented to the men of his company, like some sort of trophy, like an object.

"You are most welcome, wife." His bearded chin rested atop her head, the heat and scent of sweat clung to him like a second skin. Lyanna froze in his hold like a mouse might when confronted by a serpent. Her mind rebelled against his taking advantage of her. "I hope you will like it here. Just think, we shall raise our babes by the sea."

The very thought of bearing him children disconcerted her. Lyanna was a female, and the maternal instinct was not lacking within her, yet that did not make her willing to have offspring with just any man. And to her Robert was that, just any man. "Yes, my lord, we shall." Giving the man a false sense of safety was her best course of action. If there was anything Lyanna had learned it was that in life one had to compromise, yet with one's mind one could not make such compromises. Thus if one could not stand clean before one's inner eye then it was with shame he would ever greet the world around.

Lyanna found herself the centre of attention once she had passed the gates. The servants had come out to greet their master and once their eyes landed on the young bride, Lyanna could well see their mouths itching to move. They thought her a strange creature mayhap. One fair maiden for their handsome lord. Or rather another fair maiden for their handsome lord.

Robert spoke a short introduction, presenting her as his lady wife, after which he bent down and pressed a small kiss to her firm, unyielding lips. He treated her as if she were an unbroken horse, skittish and still half-crazed for freedom. And Lyanna supposed she was something of that sort. She felt a ghost. People looked through her, as if she were glass as easy to see through as a crystal.

There was a Sept. Lyanna noticed it only as she looked to the east. It was small and looked untended. But of course she hadn't expected that Robert would bring prayer to his gods. The man was too busy drinking himself under the table, she reckoned. Bitter wine, Lyanna tasted it on her tongue. Ivy was climbing the blackened walls. Had someone tried to set it afire? While Lyanna held no love for the Southron gods, she disliked sacrilege. It was a broken vow from those who had pledged themselves to the fate. Before she could think anymore on the subject, she came face to face with Robert's siblings.

Stannis Baratheon, a gave child, his face already made of stone, curtsied with a grim look about his features. "We welcome you to Storm's End, Lady Baratheon." All sharp angles and stiff mannerism.

Renly giggled and tried to imitate his brother. Unfortunately grace eluded the boy and he somehow managed to trip himself knocking into Lyanna's middle. Instinctively, the she-wolf encircled the boy in her arms. Seemingly taking her gesture to heart the small stag threw his arms around her. "My mamma was Lady Baratheon too. Does that mean you can be my momma?"

Heart tearing itself in two, Lyanna combed back the boy's thick curls. What could she say to that? "Wouldn't you rather that I were your good-sister?" She did remember that Robert's parents had lost their lives not too long ago. Likely Renly had been too young to properly know them, and that was the reason for which he would have granted her the place of mother.

"You're pretty, just like momma, and you smell nice too." A compliment of the highest order if Lyanna had ever heard one. Her father should have given her to Renly in marriage. Such a sweet boy he was, innocent and affable. "Are you really going to be my good-sister? We can play court and I will show you all the best places. I will be a knight and you will be a fair maiden and-"

"Enough little brother. Let go of the lady," Robert sternly directed, figuratively throwing a bucket of cold water over girl and boy. Dark blue eyes scrutinized the small boy. Renly, probably, frightened by the wildness in the older brother's eyes allowed his hands to fall. Stannis pulled the child back.

White-faced, Lyanna eyed her husband with something like venom. She swallowed the reprimand that came to the forefront of her mouth. She would not make a scene. Silently she promised to herself that once she had rid herself of Robert she would allow Renly his games. Until then she would have to content herself with smiling a small, encouraging smile at the child.

"My Lord, may I ask you a question?" Lyann ironically began when they were finally left on their own, pulling slightly away as Robert made to grab at her. His nod was her cue. "Why is it that you chose me?"

"Come with me." And quite suddenly Robert's whole demeanour had suffered a drastic change. Where once he'd tried to warm her to his touch he now backed away and started towards one entrance that was by far the least grand. Inside there was a gallery and on the walls hung portraits. Lyanna could only assume that they were late kinsmen of his. Robert stopped before what looked like a newer one. From within the gauze a woman stared at them. "My mother," Robert breathed out. "Lady Cassanna."

Cassana Estermont, Lady Baratheon. She had been a beautiful woman. Not the merely pretty of Lyanna. Nay, this was a truly beautiful woman with a light brown curls and wide blue eyes, a shade paler than her son's, and a mouth made for smiling.

"You look a lot like her." The comment brought Lyanna out of her thoughts. She looked towards Robert and it dawned upon her that his affection for her, or whatever it was that compelled him to tear her away from the safety of her home and force her to his side, was a lot like an illness of the eye. It quite distorted the image he had of the world, and subsequently of her. "She would have liked you."

The inkling suspicion that Lady Baratheon would have better liked a woman grown that could also bring something to her son's chests made Lyanna smile. "If you say so, my Lord." She supposed that she too would have liked Lady Baratheon if only for the polished surface she presented.

So that had been it? He'd been searching for some sort of substitute for his lost mother. Lyanna's eyes lingered on the woman in the portrait. Those eyes of hers, they seemed to come to life and if she strained she could almost hear a pleasant voice asking her to bring happiness to the castle, to bring happiness to her sons. Lyanna's smile turned bitter. It was not she who could bring the sun on the shadow lands. Turning away she looked to the other portraits hung. "Is there no portrait of Orys Baratheon, my Lord?"

At the mention of his ancestor the stag's face turned ashen. "The Targaryen bastard? Nay. No portrait of him or his lady survives."

Targaryen bastard or not, Lyanna considered, it was to Orys Baratheon that Robert owed his seat. Still she held herself back. What use was it to argue so early into their marriage? "I see. Very well then, I do believe I should like to rest awhile."

There was a small fire in the hearth. Lyanna knelt by it, warming her hands. Old Nan had been given quarters away from hers and a young maid was to see to her needs. "You needn't the crone. Let Alys care for you until we may find suitable ladies to attend to your needs." Those had been Robert's words. Lyanna had acquiesced with a small nod.

"Shall I get you anything, m'lady? Wine? Food?" Alys, bless her soul, was a kind girl, slightly older than Lyanna. She had a son about Renly's age, Brynden Waters. A good woman, Lyanna thought, sneaking a glance to Alys, and a good mother.

"Nay, Alys. Sit with me awhile." The invitation was followed by Lyanna gesturing towards a chair. "I have a few questions to ask you. What happened to the Sept?"

"Oh, that's an old story, m'lady," Alys brushed it off. "You needn't concern yourself over it. How do you like your new home, m'lady?"

Ah, so she was not to know anything about the burnt Sept. "I shall need some time to get used to it, beautiful though it is." She hadn't the heart to tell her differently. Storm's End was not and would never be her home.

Staring into the flames Lyanna could not help but be mesmerized by them. Fire was not only warm, it had a sort of beauty, primal and uncontainable. Different from the icy splendour of her own homeland. The flames wild, her home had been untamed and seemingly untouched by the hands of her. For a brief moment Lyanna allowed herself to see the crystal flowers bloom along the walls. She thought of the light scent of snow. Right until her vision was dashed by waves crashing into cliffs. Nay, the scent of snow was far behind her. She now heard the sea moaning and trashing, and she saw the clear skies through the window, not the heavy clouds promising a snowstorm.

"Is there a beach here, Alys?" She'd heard that sometimes by the sea there were beaches with smooth warm sand. The opposite of snow, yet not all that different. She could built a snow castle as easily as she used to make snow forts in the Wolfswood. A big castle by the waterline. Perhaps the little stag would join her. He seemed amendable to such ideas.

"Aye, m'lady. There's a beach not a long walk away from the castle. Mayhap on the morrow after you are better rested you should like to visit it." The girl smiled. "Whose to say m'lord won't join you."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream to keep Lord Baratheon from his own dealings. Nay, I believe I shall content myself with Renly if he wishes to come." Heavens forbid. Lyanna would not have her husband there. She needed peace. In fact if she had her way, Robert would be knee-deep in the woes and cares of his house and home. "There then, on the morrow you will join me and little Renly. What say you, Alys? Will you bring Brynden along?"

"Would you like me to tell you a bedtime story?" Old Nan asked just as Lyanna climbed into her bed. "What kind of stories do you like?"

"I'm too old for stories," the young woman laughed gently. She took her hair to one side and began braiding it. "Why do you not tell me about the Others since you seem rather fond of those stories."

"No stories those, sweetling." Old Nan plopped herself down on a wooden chair. Her wrinkled skin shone pale in the dim light. "Do you know why it is they came? The White Walkers?"

"Nay." Lyanna almost laughed at the woman. It was silly that in her old age she still delved upon such childish stories. "I suppose they were some sort of punishment. Men must have angered the gods somehow." Men always did thus. They fought and killed each other until there was little left for the gods, and that angered them. Lyanna was not surprised that they would send such creatures to punish the humankind. T'was not hard to believe. Not when her Gods watched a world tinted in red. What was it to them to see the ground darken more? "Punishment. A show of power. But if they destroyed the very thing they created, where would they be left? Are Gods anything without us?" Such questions. Lyanna blinked.

"Gods have existed long before us, and so they shall long after we are gone." There was a certain sort of wisdom to be found in such words, yet Lyanna refused it. "They control everything, child."

Empires have risen and fallen, men have lived and died, and the gods endured. Did they care for these people they had fashioned, or were they playing some sort of game? Was it a test? "Not me. I will be free of them."

"None of us are free." Again Lyanna was confronted by the harsh truth of life. "And you cannot escape the gods, ne'er. Not in your heart. Not in your mind."

"But they have no power here," Lyanna cried out. "You said so yourself. They have no power here."

"Power is what you make it to be." Seeming to take pity on the lady, Old Nan smiled crookedly. "I shall tell you a tale of happy times, child, so you may sleep and have sweet dreams."

What use were sweet dreams to her? Lyanna wanted to scoff at the woman but she dared not, not when Old Nan was the only reminder of home she had in the sea of strangeness. A story couldn't hurt, especially not one of happy times. Lyanna had known few of those, mainly when she was a wee lass and her Benjen had been her friend, Eddard her protector, Brandon the insufferable teaser. Happier times. She would hold those close to her heart.

"Once upon a time, back when the trees roamed the earth on unsteady roots and dragons flew upon the darkened skies lighting them with fires, back when the sun was but a weal spark and the moon a beacon, there existed a man by the name of Arnor. He dwelled in a cold river that used to be called Seres. This Arnor loved one of those winged creatures we now call dragons. He spied the she-dragon while she flew high in the sky, and the gleam of her scales in the weak light of her flames, scales shining like precious stones, endeared her to him; so much so that for her he came upon the shores, where he held little sway…"

Rhaegar Targaryen cooed softly to his daughter. Her dark eyes looked to him trustingly. "Do not worry, little love," he said, stroking back her hair gently. "Papa is here, nothing can harm you while I am here." Her night terrors were not uncommon. Rhaegar had expected it. "What has you frightened?"

Rhaenys pointed to the bed. Rhaegar smiled at her. "Shall papa look under the bed?" She nodded solemnly. The Prince inclined his head. "As my Princess commands. This Knight shan't rest until ever last one of those creatures is far, far away, unable to cause you any discomfort." He dent down on his knees and peeked under the bed. "Ah, I see. Brave Princess, I am about to face a foul foe. Would you give me a kiss? For good luck."

His daughter giggled and scooted closer to him. Her small hand came to rest on his cheek and she pressed an artless kiss on the other side of his face. "Thank you, fair Lady. I shall save you." Again he lowered himself to the ground and went under the bed only to re-emerge on the other side with a victorious grin on his handsome face. "All gone, Princess, every last one of them."

"How?" she asked breathlessly, twin pools reflecting the night sky staring at him.

The father leaned in, "Magic," he told her, wrapping her in his arms. "Your mother taught it to me, you know? She was a beautiful Princess, just like you. She came from a land far away and she brought with her the magic of her people."

"Magic?" Rhaenys repeated. "Do magic again."

"Magic drains one so," Rhaegar said. "I shall close my eyes for a few moments, and the we shall both do magic. Here, come. Let us rest awhile and then I will teach you magic."

Obediently little Rhaenys closed her eyes, and Rhaegar could feel her breathing growing even. He looked down to her. She was so much like her mother, all shadow top his light. Elia would had loved her the moment she laid eyes on her, small and wet and crying her lungs out. Rhaegar had fallen for her when they put her in his arms. He still remembered the day. Elia had been in her bed for three days already. It seemed that Rhaenys had loved the warmth of her mother's womb too much to come any earlier.

After she had given birth, Rhaegar remembered, that Elia had cried too while murmuring sweet nothings to the babe. Had she lived to see her daughter grow, he was sure she would have been just as enthralled by her as he. "She would have made you flower crown and braided your hair." Elia would have been a good mother. Death had claimed her too soon, his wife.

It hadn't been exactly love that had tied them together, but Rhaegar had cared for her in his own way. Elia had been gentle and sweet, with a sharper wit than many had been able to see. She would have made a good Queen, just as good as she'd been a wife. Rhaegar wondered at times how he would have passed these years had Elia been by his side.

A knock on the door had him placing Rhaenys under the covers and taking his leave in as gentle a manner as he could muster. He opened said door to see who it was that disturbed him at such an hour. It hardly came as a surprise to see Cersei Lannister.

The oldest of Lord Tywin's twins, Lady Cersei had made it a sort of personal mission to follow him around and from time to time make passes at him. She meant well, the dear girl, but he feared her father would have quite a shock if ever he found out what she was up to.

"I thought I would find you here, Your Grace," she said in a low voice, quiet as to not wake the sleeping child she knew to be in the chamber.

"The hour is late, my lady," Rhaegar murmured. "You mustn't be out in the night. Go back to your chambers." Her pouting face reminded him of Rhaenys. "Cersei Lannister, need I get one of the Kingsguards to help you find your way?" That would certainly cause quite a racket and no end of questions and gossip.

"I only wanted to help," she sulkily declared. Cersei tossed her blond mane over her shoulder. "Why do you always treat me as if I were a child?"

For the sole reason that he had no interest in bedding beautiful Cersei Lannister. She had the shape of a woman, but her heart was that of a child. She wanted the love she heard about in songs and foolishly sought it in him. Rhaegar dared a small smile. "Thank you for the kind thought. It is help enough, my lady. Allow me to see you safely to your rooms."

That seemed to please her well enough. Cersei locked her arm around his and leaned her rounded chest against the upper part of his arm. Rhaegar shook his head at her transparency. She was a child. He allowed her leeway nonetheless for the fact that, being such, she knew not what her actions meant. Rhaegar convinced herself that come a young knight to sweep her off her feet she would outgrow the fondness she now seemingly possessed for him.

"What does that have to do with Lyanna?" Maega asked suddenly. "And who are all those people."

"Hush, Meaga. We will find out soon enough." Daeny raised her head from the book and looked at the clock. "But not this night. I do believe it is almost time for mom and dad to be back. Now, if they ask, you went to be at nine sharp."

"Fine," the younger sister groaned. "Tomorrow will you read again?"

"You can be sure. Now sleep." Daeny pulled the blanket over Maega and hid the book under the bed. She went over and turned off the lights, then put on a nightlight. After that, daeny climbed into her own bed and pulled her own covers up to her chin. "Sweet dreams."

"To you too. Nighty night."

A/N: Title from Old English poetry. It means "old work of the giants".