A/N: welcome to my second fan fic! The idea for this one was born around the same time as my first fic but I had only snippets of a story and nothing to connect them. At the end of my first story this one started to come together, however I feel this one will be much much longer. I'm starting the main story when Aerys is going mad and capturing what it was like for the people around him to deal with that. There's a lot about this point in time I wanted to know more about and so here we are with a new story. I do like the embellishment of magical abilities so there will also be that incorporated too as we go along. Enjoy :)
Chapter One: The Wolf Pack
8000BC After the victory of the War for the Dawn
The terrain was still cold and frozen from the recent Winter, unnatural as it may have been. The snow still fell thick and the ground was unstable, one didn't know if they were walking over snow covered rocks or scores of snow covered dead. Nonetheless the living had won, and life had to go on. The push to protect the lands was felt by all who worked and were being directed by the surviving Starks. Brandon Stark wielded his magic to construct the fantastical and breathtaking wall of ice entwined with magic spells of repulsion and protection. It had taken all within him to convince the living they had won but the enemy wasn't quite defeated. And so the living conceded to build the wall to ensure that what Brandon said didn't come true. Construction was underway and was taking man power and time, things that were short after the mass casualties and extreme weather. Slowly and surely the Wall grew and with progress came momentum, hope and relief.
Maybe just maybe life would go back to normal and the dead would never rise again. One member of House Stark couldn't rest though, there were nights full of nightmares and days were no better. The whispering of evil always was just there in the background, constantly talking. It goaded him, it pushed him to embrace the evil within him and to become what he was destined to be. He hid this well, but over time cracks begun to appear. He became short tempered and lashed out at his brothers, even attacked one of his sisters. That was his breaking point, he knew he couldn't stay. The wolf had to leave the pack, so in the dead of night he snuck into Brandon's quarters. Silently he slid through the room taking care to be silent and slow, with the utmost care he found what he was looking for. One of Brandon's swords, which he had made himself, his talented magical brother who everyone loved. He scowled as he looked it over in the light of the night, a broad blade with a strong handle inscribed with Stark family symbols along it. He grinned with greed as he disappeared into the night, the only trace he left behind him was a trail of footprints in the snow that ended abruptly. He was never seen again.
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267AC Winterfell
The winds rattled around Winterfell as the castle begins to ready for sleep. Despite the cold blasts of wind, inside, the castle is warm. Fires burn brightly in every room and the common rooms heating the castle along with the springs below heating the floors. Servants scurry in every direction readying the castle to rest and to begin preparation for the coming day. The Stark children huddle together at Old Nans feet like they did regularly as she regaled them with tales from history and sometimes from in her head. The old woman who had served the family for an uncountable amount of time smiles down at their bright faces. Brandon sulks in the corner pretending to read the same page in a book, the eldest Stark boy outgoing and boisterous but also rash and bad tempered at times. Tonight is no different, he learned of his future betrothal tonight from his father Rickard and had fought with him long and hard about it. The memory of his confrontation fresh in his mind as he lingered on a page in his book, about the Long Night.
"A Tully?!" spat Brandon, "You would wed your heir to a Riverlander?"
"We need the Riverlands you silly boy," retorted his father irritably, "how do you think we get trade brought to us by land from the south? Without good ties it sets us up to rely on enemies in Winter for trade! When will you start thinking politically for the family?"
The boy had no response to this, because he knew his father was right, he never thought politically. Yet he needed to learn if he was to ever lead the North like it was planned, it didn't stop him noticing the ladies from the other houses. The ones who caught his eye far easier than the Tully sisters, like Cersei Lannister and Ashara Dayne.
Sullenly he had lowered his head, "Why can't I marry someone like Cersei Lannister? I'd happily betroth to someone like her"
Rickard sighed heavily, "You and the rest of the realm son, her father has no strategic need of the North so we wouldn't even be considered. You're thinking with what's between your legs not what's best for the family. We need to align you for the good of the North, all the North not just what you think is best. You have much to learn"
For the first time in a long time Brandon had looked up and met his fathers gaze seeing the disappointment burning in his eyes. That had been enough to raise the heat and anger in him, with that he had stormed from the room. Rickard watched him leave and internally had been worried how his heir was to rule the North with such a temper and not spark any wars.
Now Brandon sat begrudgingly with his siblings as Old Nan scared them with stories of the Others.
'Stupid stories,' he thought with scorn, 'stupid babies for believing'
He watched for a short time as Ned and Lyanna clutched to one another at a particularly scary part of Old Nans story. Their little hands clenched together tightly behind their backs, their heads resting against the other. They were incredibly close he felt a pant of jealousy for their bond too. His gaze flicked to Old Nan herself, she looked to be enjoying the act of story telling and scaring the young children. She caught his gaze and smiled, a mischeavous glint in her eye. Despite his disdain, Brandon felt a glimmer of warmth to the old woman who had been a constant in all of their lives. It was short lived though, the door opened with a crash and their mother Lyarra stood filling the door way. She was tall and beautiful, her long dark curls cascading down her sides and her bright grey eyes flashing as she looked around at her young.
She slowly entered the room, the growing belly hindering her movements as she walked.
"Are you scaring the children again Old Nan?" she asked with mock anger.
Old Nan flashed a near toothless smile, "No Lady Stark I am telling them no stories of the sort"
But by the look of the terrified faces on her young children Lyarra knew this was a lie.
Looking reproachfully at Old Nan she gestured to Brandon, reluctantly he shut his book with a snap and followed her. Casting a disdainful look at his frightened siblings as he stalked from the room, he was still angry from the confrontation with his father and his mood was dark enough he wanted everyone to feel it.
Old Nan watched them leave with a glint in her eye, alone with the two youngest Starks she leaned forward and spoke barely above a whisper.
"Do you know why there must always be a Stark in Winterfell my little wolves?"
Lyanna and Ned looked at one another and shook their heads, "Is it because Father is the chosen Warden of the North by the King?" asked Lyanna. Her face was curious and serious, sure that she had the right answer.
Old Nan slowly shook her head, "No my dear but that is a very good answer. A Stark must always be in Winterfell to protect the realms and the world from the evil that lives to the far North of the Wall" she spoke dangerously and seriously still not raising her voice above a whisper.
Ned scrunched up his face, "The Others aren't real Old Nan! Brandon says they're just..."
"Stories to scare children?" finished Old Nan her old voice cracking and her eyes wild and wide.
Ned nodded and Lyanna joined him, "Everybody knows they died thousands of years ago" spoke Lyanna with surety.
"Do the dead ever truly die?" returned Old Nan seriously, the mischeavous look usually on her face vanished.
"Yes, of course!" Retorted Lyanna, "Dead men can't come back to life!"
Old Nan leaned even further, "My little wolves, a Stark must always be in Winterfell because wolves protect the pack. A lone Wolf dies but the pack survives. The Starks have wolves blood running through their veins, you are the protectors of the realm, the real protectors of the realm. You need to remember that if we are to survive the coming winter"
"Survive the coming Winter?" said Lyanna, confused.
Old Nan nodded her face till grave, "Yes child. There are only two animals which can protect and save our people from the rising cold in the far North. Wolves and dragons, fire and ice, they must work together to save the world"
Ned and Lyanna looked at each other as if to say, 'another one of Old Nans crazy tales'
Old Nans hands shot to their faces and she turned the children to face her, "Listen to me and listen carefully children. You are wolves, your job is to protect the realm from what waits in the darkness. Remember that when you make choices in your life, remember you need to protect the pack"
Old Nan looked deeply into Lyannas eyes before glancing at Ned, "The dragons have their part to play too, and your pups will save the lives of many"
The room had gotten cold as talk of dead men had chilled the young children to the bones.
Suddenly the door crashed open again and Lyarra entered, stopping in shock at the absolute terror written across her children's faces. She huffed and put her hands on her hips, "Old Nan!" she scolded, "Dont scare them so close to bed! They'll have night terrors!"
"There are worse things in the dark than dreams Lady Lyarra," croaked old Nan as she bustled from the room. She stopped and looked back at the two terrified young children watching her leave the room, "Remember little wolves, the pack survives"
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Those wards haunted Lyanna from that day on, she never stopped hearing the words and the pointed look Old Nan had given her. She knew better than to dispute something with Old Nan. And her dreams began showing her the rising dead men with blue eyes, marching south to claim her and her family as their own. She would often wake screaming and lathered in sweat from these dreams that felt real.
Ned remembered those words too, but what could he do about it? A second born son with no hope to rule. He pushed the words down and got on with his life, yet the dreams started for Ned too. In his dreams he saw the wolf, with her pups injured in the forest, then he was inside the wolf watching the army of the dead breach the wall. Many nights he woke screaming out, his hands reaching out to defend himself against the air as he came back to his room.
"Are you having dreams too?" whispered Lyanna one morning to Ned as he appeared at the table with dark rings under his eyes.
He simply glared back at her and spoke quietly in response, "They're coming every night now, how do I make them stop?"
Lyanna leaned forward, "We have to ask Old Nan, she must know. She knew about the Others, maybe she knows about the dreams?"
Ned was about to say something when Brandon shoved him aside a smug look on his face.
Lyanna sat back extinguishing their private conversation as Brandon looked at them with contempt. He had always thought he was better than everyone, born a leader, treated like the favourite, gushed over by the Lords of the North. Lyanna raked a cold glare over him as she eyed off the sword at his hip, and she resolved herself to embrace being a wolf too. A helpless lady wolf would be unfit to protect her pack.
