Howl of the Dragonwolves

by Elphaba818

9 years ago, the Mad Queen and the Queenslayer died and left their bastard twins grow up in the cold shadows of House Stark. Torrhen and Lyaella Snow know their parents never got the happy ending they deserved. Now they have the chance to change things. They'll ensure their parents win the game of thrones. Or they'll die trying. TIME TRAVEL AU! Co-Author: Longclaw 1-6 as of 2-22-21

11. When a Dragon Feels Alone

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE! PLEASE READ!

Hello, again! We've made it to Chapter Eleven, people! And we're tapping back into Lyaella and Jon at the Wall! :D

I'd like to give a big thank you and shout out and thank you to Longclaw 1-6 and WrathofAvarice for helping me with a few outlining problems I had with this chapter. You think it looks long now? It was originally going to be slightly longer in the initial outline, but they pointed some places where I could easily cut out stuff to shrink it down. Thanks, guys! ;D

I'd like to say right now first and foremost that this chapter is unedited as I need to get it online ASAP for reasons stated in the paragraph below, and the chapter title is a work in progress. There's a good chance I might change it later.

I wanna keep this message short and to the point, so I'll skip straight to the important announcement - I'm going to be slowing down my writing for a little while. It's going to be May next month, and you know what May means for artists? MerMay! I've decided to take part in the month-long mermaid art event by drawing some loose sketches of mermaid characters. I'm not doing the official prompt, though. I have a loose idea on how to tell a daily one drawing per day story regarding a mermaid and human boy falling in love. Depending on how much I do and how inspired I get with the characters, I might even expand on this idea after MerMay is done by making them into a webcomic. My ideas are rather raw for now regarding an eventual comic, but I want to do this. I need to become a faster artist anyway if I'm ever going to get a job as an animator one day when this whole COVID-19 pandemic blows over. Plus, you wanna know what I've been procrastinating on because I've been so busy writing? Writing the next draft of my screenplay and finishing digitizing my art portfolio online! I've gotta do these things, especially since I'm here at home with plenty of free time right now! I'm sorry to leave you guys hanging, but my eventual career comes first! I promise to still do a bit of writing on this story every day, but it won't be a priority anymore... or at least not until after May. Maybe if I'm lucky I can get out another chapter sometime next month, but no promises! I've gotta make these other things a priority instead. At least for a little while. After a full month of three great updates on this story, I don't think it's too much to ask you all to be patient for a little while, right? I hope you all understand!

Now, onto the review total! We almost made it to the review goal this time. 173 reviews. I suppose that's something, if nothing else. Still perhaps we can try making it to this next goal count considering I'm going to be taking a small break? I'm going to cross my fingers and hope we make it to 200 this time! Come on, you guys can do it! Strive for 200 over this next month while I do my art projects! Tell yourselves to believe you can do it, and you can! And if that's not enough motivation, then get this - my readers on Ao3 have already left 209 reviews! Are you going to let the Ao3 readers leave you guys in the dust considering I shared the story here on FanFiction first? LOL!

That's all for now! I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and please review when you're done!

Happy Reading!

- Elphaba818

---

Chapter Eleven: When a Dragon Feels Alone

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

"I am. I swore a sacred vow at the godswood. I pledged my life and honor to the Night's Watch."

"I'm offering you the chance to avenge your family. To take back Winterfell and rule the North."

"I'm sorry, your grace. My place is here."

The new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch could only assume the Baratheon king was disappointed by his decision judging by how tight his expression became. Truth be told, Jon was disappointed himself that he couldn't accept Stannis' offer. All his life, he had dreamed of being a Stark, for his father to write to the king and request for him to be legitimized. To be considered his real son like Robb, Bran, and Rickon… it was the only thing he'd ever wanted as a boy. And now, to be given the opportunity to become a Stark and avenge his family from those who'd taken everything from them was more than he could have dreamed of. To turn Stannis down was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

But he had no choice. He was sworn to the Night's Watch. He was the newly elected Lord Commander. To take the kings' offer would mean breaking his vows once and for all, and he couldn't do that. Other than when he'd had a momentary lapse of judgment and nearly rode off to join Robb in his war, Yggrite was the only one who made him seriously consider turning his back on his brothers. But she was gone now. His father was gone. Uncle Benjen was gone. Robb was gone. And truth be told, the rest of his siblings were probably gone, too. They were either dead by now, or they obviously didn't care about him enough to come looking for him. It didn't matter that he was sworn to his vows of the Watch. If he knew for a fact that any of them were still alive and waiting for him to save them, he'd drop everything to rescue them. But there was no sign of his brothers or sisters anywhere. He was the last of his family, and because of that, he had to uphold the values of their dead father more than anything. To forget his honor would mean betraying every value that Ned Stark taught him.

"You're as stubborn as your father, Jon Snow," Stannis sighed. "And as honorable."

"I can think of no higher praise."

"I didn't mean it as praise. Honor got your father killed, but if your mind's made up, I won't try to dissuade you."

Jon nodded curtly. "May I ask, your grace, how long you intend to stay at Castle Black?"

Stannis' eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to throw us out? After how my army saved the Night's Watch from Mance Rayder?"

Jon tensed. "That was not my intent, your grace. We will never forget what you've done for us. I only ask because it's a question of survival. The Night's Watch can't continue feeding and housing your men and the Free Folk prisoners indefinitely."

His expression mollified, nodding in understanding. "Ah, right. Basic provisions are always the bane of military command. Rations must be growing scarce between providing for your men, mine, the Wildlings, and a growing dragon."

"Aye, your grace."

"Well, don't worry. My men will be marching to Winterfell fairly soon. As the Wildlings don't wish to be part of my army, they're yours to deal with as you see fit. Execute them, see if that Tormund fellow is more willing to negotiate… You're Lord Commander, now. Your decision."

"Wise counsel, your grace. I'll keep it in mind."

"I must ask though… what are your plans regarding the Targaryen child?"

He stiffened. "Lyaella, you mean?"

Stannis nodded. "Yes. Have you made a decision on what to do about her and her dragon?"

Jon pressed his lips together, willing himself to not show any emotions. He should have anticipated Stannis inquiring about Lyaella. The stag king had honored his word and done nothing against the little girl since she'd appeared at the Wall, but he hadn't made it a secret that he wanted the Night's Watch to turn her over to him, either. And due to Thorne and Maester Aemon convincing everyone that the best course of action regarding how to handle the girls' presence here at the Wall was to let the next Lord Commander decide what to do about her, her fate now rested in his hands. The wrong hands, really. He had no idea whatsoever on what to do about Lyaella Snow.

"Why do you ask, your grace?" he said finally. "Do you wish for me to release them to you?"

"I won't deny it. Yes, I do."

His stomach twisted at the admission. "Then surely you understand why I'm reluctant to do so, your grace," Jon countered, mouth going dry. "Lyaella might be somehow related to House Targaryen and has a dragon, but she's still just a child. She's done nothing against you and it would be wrong to execute her."

To his surprise, Stannis shook his head. "I recognize that. I've had my men pay close attention to that girl and her dragon throughout the entirety of my time here. After listening to their observations, I've come to believe that were it not for her dragon, she'd be less of a threat to me than that bastard boy sitting on the Iron Throne now, regardless of her lineage. She's a smart girl, no doubt about that considering how careful she is to never talk too much about who her relatives are or where she came from, but she's too shy. Too skittish. Ignorant of how the world really works. I'm no fool, Jon Snow, and executing her would be the stupidest thing I could do. It'd only portray me as a murderous monster."

He blinked at the king, puzzled. "Then… what do you want with her? If you don't wish to kill her, then…?"

Stannis' face remained expressionless, but Jon didn't know any better, he could have sworn he saw the faintest trace of an amused smile in the kings eyes. "For starters, I want the opportunity to speak with her. Privately, with only my advisers present."

"Your grace?"

"I request the opportunity to speak to her alone. Were it not the fact that that girl is currently a guest of the Night's Watch and therefore under your protection, I'd just send Ser Davos or Lady Melisandre to go fetch her and bring her here. As she's your guest, I must ask it of you first."

Jon furrowed his brows. "Why do you want to talk to her? I doubt she'll be anymore open with you or your people regarding wherever she came from than anyone else has so far."

"Regardless, I have my own questions for that child, and now that she's not crying every few minutes like she was that day in the Main Hall, I intend to ask her again. If nothing else, I wish to see what type of girl my daughter Shireen speaks so highly of and has befriended."

There was a brief pause, then Jon finally nodded. "Very well, I'll go find her, your grace, but don't give her the impression that I've officially decided to turn her over to you, because I haven't yet."

"Agreed."

Rising at once from the chair to his desk, Jon bowed respectfully to the Baratheon king claimant and headed to the door.

---

"Come on, you know this one."

"I… I can't remember…"

"This is an easy one, Gilly. D-Do you remember… remember the memory game we made up?"

"Aye."

"Then remember w-what we told you before? What does it remind you of?"

"Well, it curves up and down like a snake."

"Right, and then remember what else we told you?"

"Snake… it starts with the same letter as your last name, Lyaella…"

"Mm-hmm. I'm L-Lyaella 'Snow.'"

"Try to remember. I know you can."

"It's… It's… Oh, it's an 's!'"

Eager clapping and cheerful giggling. "Yes! Y-You did it! Great job, Gil— ah!"

"Careful, Lyaella! I need you to stay still!"

"Y-Yes, I know. Sorry, Shireen…"

Shireen smiled, releasing the ruined partial side braid she'd been attempting to weave into Lyaella's silver tresses. "I'll have to start over now. It got all lumpy."

Lyaella smiled, but it was clear by her furrowed brows that it didn't reach her eyes. Shifting about uncertainly for a moment, she soon sat still in her chair. "Okay… but again, I'm still not sure h-how I feel about this."

"It's only a braid, Lyaella. A small one on the side," said Shireen, starting over. "Just a little something for you to do with your hair. It'll look pretty, I promise!"

"I'm sure it will, but I've always b-been against putting braids in my hair."

"Really?" Shireen blinked, fingers stilling. "How come?"

Lyaella idly toyed with the edges of her pendant, doing her best to keep her head still. "W-Well, because of Daenerys Targaryen…"

"Oh?"

"Daenerys Targaryen…" Gilly repeated, glancing up curiously at her two teachers from the Castle Black library book she'd been practicing reading from. "I think I heard Sam talkin' about her to Maester Aemon once. She's all the way across the… the Slender Sea, right?"

Shireen nodded, resuming her braiding. "The Narrow Sea, but yes. My father's heard rumors that she's become the Queen of Meereen, in Essos."

"I've heard the same," Lyaella agreed, smiling wistfully as she recalled all the stories she's read about her future mother's regime as queen in Slaver's Bay. "They call her the M-Mother of Dragons, and the Breaker of Chains."

Gilly only looked further confused. "Meereen? Essos?"

"Essos is the e-eastern continent across the Narrow Sea. Meereen is a city there."

"And why do they call her Mother of Dragons? Breaker of Chains?"

Lyaella beamed. "They say she w-walked into a burning pyre with t-three dragon eggs… and when the flames burned out, she emerged from it unharmed! M-More importantly, all three eggs hatched! She became the mother to three baby dragons!"

Gilly gaped. "Really? There are more dragons out there aside from yers, Lyaella?"

"Uh-huh, hers are—"

"Lyaella, don't move your head! No nodding, please!"

"Oh, s-sorry, Shireen… Anyway, Gilly, they say she has a a black dragon, a g-green dragon, and a white one, too."

"Like yer dragon?"

Lyaella shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. W-White is Sōnar's main color, but take another look at her when we go outside. You'll notice she's g-got bits of blue mixed in with her white scales." It had taken Lyaella awhile, but she finally felt comfortable enough around the people of Castle Black now to stop having her dragon follow her everywhere. Aside from when she slept at night, her dragon preferred to stay outside nowadays, enjoying the fresh air and her newfound freedom. After so many years locked inside her pen in the Winterfell kennels at Queen Sansa's insistence, Lyaella knew her dragon loved being able to stretch her wings and fly whenever she wanted. She never went far, always making sure to stay within shouting distance in case her mistress needed her. The sight of the white and blue dragon circling back and forth across the Wall was now a common occurrence to the residents of Castle Black. "I d-don't know if the Dragon's Queen's white dragon has any… any extra colors mixed in."

"There's also tales about how she's taken it upon herself to end the slave trade in Essos," Shireen added. "She's breaking the chains of human oppression, that's why people call her the Breaker of Chains."

"She's an amazing woman, Daenerys Targaryen. I-I-I hope can meet her one day…" It didn't matter what anyone said back in her timeline — Lyaella knew her mother had been a good person. She helped so many people by trying to end slavery… and all people in Westeros chose to remember her for was her one mistake in burning down King's Landing.

"Oh, I see," said the former-Wildling woman, amazed. But to Lyaella and Shireen's surprise, her expression slowly fell. "I'm sorry I don't stuff. I don't mean to bother yeh both by explainin' this to me."

"It's all right, r-really," Lyaella assured her, smiling warmly. "We don't mind."

"I feel bad, though. Yer both even takin' time out to teach me to read…"

"Don't feel bad. It's our… our pleasure to help."

Shireen nodded. "Nothing's meant to come easy, otherwise everyone would be able to do everything. You'll learn soon, I promise."

"Are yeh sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. I told you I taught Ser Davos, and old people are terrible at learning new things… And done!" she exclaimed, tying a dark hair tie around the loose end of the small weave with a proud smile. "Your hair looks so pretty now, Lyaella!"

Lyaella shyly smiled, brushing her fingers curiously against the small braid framing the right side of her face. "R-Really?"

Shireen beamed, nodding enthusiastically. "Really, really!"

"I agree," said Gilly, also smiling. "It looks nice on yeh, Lyaella. Yeh should do another on the other side, Princess Shireen."

"Good idea, Gilly! You try figuring out the next big letter on that page over there while I do that, then I'll go find a looking glass so Lyaella can see herself."

"All right, but do yeh mean this oddly crossed letter here or this one that's—"

"Oh, n-no, no, Shireen! Please don't add another one!" Lyaella cut in, frantically shaking her head with a sheepish look. "I… I don't m-mind you putting this one in for a minute to see how it looks, but I d-don't deserve lots of braids in my hair!"

"Nonsense, child. You're a Targaryen, so don't believe you don't deserve anything."

The girls all looked up. Strolling down the stone stairs with a thick tome under his arm was none other than Maester Aemon. Sam was right behind him, and interestingly enough, so was Jon.

"Jon, Maester Aemon," Lyaella cheered, immediately brightening at the appearance of her future father and uncle. "Good to see you, and y-you as well, Lord Sam."

Sam chuckled, leading Maester Aemon forward to greet her properly. "Hello, there."

Jon on the other hand chose to linger back a few steps behind them, nodding awkwardly in return. "Afternoon," he shortly greeted.

Despite his lack of sight, Maester Aemon smiled down at Lyaella while affectionately patting her shoulder. "I'd say the same, dear, but I'm afraid I can't see at all. It is good to hear you, though."

"Oh!" she gasped, reddening. "I'm… I'm s-sorry, I meant no disrespect!"

"'Tis fine, I know you didn't."

"You all seem to be having fun. What're you up to?" Sam asked.

"Lyaella and I were giving Gilly another reading lesson," said Shireen. "And I was also trying to add a little braid into Lyaella's hair."

Sam and Jon both blinked and turned to peer more closely at Lyaella. She squeaked from the attention, flushing bright red as she shyly averted her eyes.

Maester Aemon chuckled, setting down the book as he settled into an open chair nearby. "Reading lessons and hair braiding, you say? That's very kind of you both."

"How are the lessons coming, by the way?" Sam asked. "Are you understanding everything all right?"

"Aye, they're both good teachers," Gilly assured him. Then oddly enough, her eyes narrowed. "Very patient."

The portly Night's Watchmen looked away sheepishly. "W-Well, I told you that the best way to learn is to practice…"

"No, no, don't worry. Lyaella, Princess Shireen, and I are doin' just fine on our own, thank yeh," she said, turning her nose up at the disgraced heir of Horn Hill before pointedly glancing back to the girls. Lyaella couldn't help but share in a muffled giggle with her new friend when they saw the crestfallen look on Sam's face. Maester Aemon only smiled kindly as he listened to her, but Jon bit lip, pointedly looking away from everyone to hide his own amusement. "I'm sure yeh must be busy attendin' to whatever important Night's Watch duties yeh do for Maester Aemon, but Lyaella and Princess Shireen and I have lots of time on their hands, so they've been helpin' me. And we're getting alon' well together. We were just talkin' about Daenerys Targaryen just now."

Jon blinked. "The Dragon Queen?"

"Uh-huh," said Shireen, nodding cheerily. "I was just trying to fix up Lyaella's hair a bit so she could fix it up in an easy way, but she barely let me make even that one little braid that I made on her now."

Jon and Sam both blinked, glancing back over at Lyaella curiously. Her cheeks burned even hotter from the attention, and she subconsciously started twirling the little weave by her cheek.

"Huh. I hadn't even noticed it," said the Northerner, shrugging away the slight change.

Lyaella's heart sunk at her future father's lack of reaction. "Y-You… You didn't? Is not… It's not jumping out at you at all?"

"No, not really. Why?"

Her eyes fell, avoiding looking at anyone as as she idly traced over a knot in the wooden tabletop surface. "Nothing. I… I j-just figured people would notice there's a change, that's all."

Jon looked really out of his element, here, but he did his best to maintain his nonchalant expression. "Well, it's not like it's that big of a change, really. Not big enough for someone to notice if they're only half-paying attention. Had you dyed your hair black or brown or even cut it, that'd be much more noticeable."

She jerked at his words, eyes widening. "What, n-no! I'm not gonna… gonna start dying my hair or cutting it! I like it s-silvery and long!"

He nodded once, gruffly. "All right, then don't complain. And anyways, I need to—"

A small chuckle from Maester Aemon cut him off. "Forgive me Lord Commander, but you can bring her along with you back out into the courtyard like you said when we bumped into you a moment ago. Allow an old man to talk to her first, then you can take her. All right?

There was a brief pause, but then finally Jon nodded. "Very well, Maester Aemon. But please, try to hurry. I don't want Stannis getting upset with us."

"My father?" asked Shireen. "Does he wish to speak to me?"

He shook his head. "No, don't worry, princess. You can stay."

"Oh, good!"

"Back to what you were saying before," said Maester Aemon, "what does my niece across the sea have to do with adding a braid into my new relatives hair?"

"I don't know. I just asked Lyaella why she never did anything with her hair like adding a braid into and she said it was because of her. We got off topic a bit since we started talking about the Dragon Queen herself, so she never elaborated."

Everyone turned to Lyaella for a better explanation, but the little girl didn't look over at them. She stared down silently at her lap, her bangs shadowing her eyes completely. "I… I'm n-not allowed to put braids in my hair. Even if I was, I don't deserve them."

Sam cocked his head a bit, muddled. "You weren't allowed to…? What?"

She twirled her dragon charm on her necklace back and forth between her fingers. Truth or Half-Truth was the only way she could explain this without giving away too much. "Me and Tory always kept… kept an ear open for news on h-her. We were curious about our… our T-Targaryen side."

"That makes sense," said Gilly, smiling kindly. "There nothin' wron' about wantin' to know about yer roots."

Lyaella sighed. With great reluctance, she glanced up at Gilly and sadly shook her head. "N-Not according to my relatives. Aside from basic… basic history l-lessons, they never wanted us to learn too much about our T-Targaryen side. They always got really… really m-mad at us whenever we openly t-talked about it."

Jon frowned. "Well, your relatives are Northerners, right?" She nodded. "Then you must remember that there's lots of lingering tension towards House Targaryen among Northerners. They probably had some lingering hatred towards the Mad King."

"T-To the point that after we accidentally hatched Sōnar and… and played make believe with her in reenacting past T-Targaryen wars, they threw all the Targaryen history b-books into the fire so we wouldn't play-act past wars with her ever again?"

She didn't dare look up to see how everyone reacted at that. She just tugged a history book detailing the past war of The Dance of the Dragons closer to her and flipped it open to a random page. Ignoring the wetness gathering in her eyes, she focused on reading. For several moments, no one said anything, but then—

"Your dragon hatched by accident?"

"They really did that?"

"What does any of that have to do with yeh bein' forbidden from puttin' braids in yer hair?"

"Your relatives… how did they treat you and your brother?"

"How much do you actually know about the Valyrian side of our blood, my dear?"

Lyaella trembled. She really didn't want to get into this all that much, but what choice did she have? She still wasn't all that sure about what to think of Sam, but he'd still been decent to her thus far, and Gilly and Shireen had been very kind, never treating her badly even once. And Jon and Maester Aemon were family, even if her future father didn't know yet. If she had talk about this to someone, it might as well be with family. Sucking in a breath for strength, she glanced up again.

"Yes to both y-your questions, Shireen, Sam. We… had no idea we were hatching Sōnar when w-we hatched her, and they did do that… I already told you they're t-terrible people… T-Tory and I were only able to save one book, and we k-keep it hidden… That r-relates to Daenerys Targaryen and me not wearing braids, G-Gilly, because… because we found out she generally w-wears her hair in braids, and m-my aunts didn't… d-didn't want me to look like her."

Shireen, Sam, and Gilly all blinked repeatedly at her rushed answers to their questions, but Lyaella didn't give them the chance to absorb what she said. She just turned to Jon, looking pointedly down at his knees instead of up at his face. She didn't want to see his expression as she answered his question.

"I-If you're asking if our relatives ever… ever hit me or T-Tory, then no. Other p-people did sometimes, but not them. T-They weren't ever violent until the n-night we had to run. They just… They…" she shook her head, sighing tiredly. "They j-just made it clear how much they didn't like us. Our eldest aunt? She's in charge, and… and t-the way she looked down on us all the t-time, never b-being nice… She doesn't even k-know what the word 'kindness' even means… She l-loves herself, and only herself. Then our other aunt?" she added, tone growing bitter. "S-She pretends she cares about family, but t-the truth… the truth is that she could care l-less. The only t-thing she wants to do is r-runaway from everything and kill people. She s-stops by from time to time, but never for too long. She puts on a good mask of c-caring for others… but T-Tory and I know the truth. She's h-heartless… She wouldn't leave if she really cared. And then our uncle…"

Lyaella scoffed, rolling her eyes. With great reluctance, she glanced up at Jon. He was wide-eyed, face quite pale.

"H-He's like a… a living doll. No soul. N-No emotion. We only s-see him once a year, and w-we're glad about that… He's creepy. He doesn't c-care about anything other than s-sitting next to weirwood trees. None of them really care about us. F-Family… Family means nothing to our relatives. They wouldn't… have done what they d-did to our parents or treated us like that if it did."

Jon gawked in disbelief. Sam and Gilly exchanged unreadable looks. Shireen's eyes grew very wet. Maester Aemon frowned. None of them seemed to know what to say to her revelations about her home life.

Sighing bitterly, Lyaella turned to Maester Aemon. She didn't want to hear any questions or possible words of comfort from any of them regarding her and Torrhen's miserable life with the Starks. She just wanted to move past it without any comments.

"The only things Torrhen and I know about our Targaryen heritage is what we learn in our basic history lessons. We know the most minimal details ever about our true House, but thanks to reading through some history books here at Castle Black, I've come to realize that some of the stuff Torrhen and I know from our lessons we either learned incorrectly, or we were purposefully taught the wrong facts. Other than the one book we managed to save from our relatives, we don't know all that much at all."

Her blind uncle gave her a pitying look. "I see… then I suppose it's safe to say that neither of you were taught the Valyrian language of our House, then?"

"No."

"This is… surprising, I must say. I thought for sure you both knew it, considering what you named your dragon."

The others all looked puzzled, but Lyaella managed to squeeze out a sheepish smile. "Sōnar? I know her name's in High Valyrian, but her name's a special exception to us not knowing the language."

"Your dragon's name is a High Valyrian word?" Sam asked.

Lyaella nodded. "It's High Valyrian for 'winter.' I wanted to name her something wintry when I saw her when she first hatched." A half-truth. That was indeed part of the reason why she named Sōnar what she did, but the main reason? That she couldn't tell. "It's only one of three words we know."

"What're the other two? And how do you know those three if no one ever taught you and your brother High Valyrian?" Shireen asked.

"We weren't officially taught the language, but Tory and I know someone who does know it." Lord Tyrion in the future, not that she could explain this. "Our relatives wouldn't let him teach us, but we asked him about what these particular words meant in Valyrian. We know that the word dragonriders of long ago used to make their dragons breathe fire is dracarys. But the other…"

"Yes?"

Lyaella tensed, extremely hesitant. Finally she shook her head, letting her eyes wander off to the side. "I… I can't. I don't wanna talk about it…"

Shireen looked puzzled, but Jon, Gilly, and Sam all appeared on edge. Lyaella didn't understand why her minimal knowledge of the High Valyrian language appeared to worry them so much.

Maester Aemon smiled, however. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I found this, then." He slid the book he'd brought into the library across the table. "I thought this would simply be a refresher for you, but I suppose it'll be the first real instruction in the language of our House."

Lyaella blinked at him, then curiously opened it to a random page. She gaped in wonder when she saw its contents. "High Valyrian…"

"A self-study into reading and speaking the language," he nodded. "I was going to see how much you knew about our language judging by what you did and didn't know from this old tome, but now I see I must teach you everything in it."

"I… I'm sorry to disappoint you, Maester Aemon…"

He shook his head, smiling kindly. "I'm not disappointed, Lyaella. Only surprised. From now on after you join in the daily sword training lessons the Lord Commander gives the new recruits, you'll join me either down here or in my solar for private language lessons."

She perked up, surprised. "R-Really? You'll… You'll teach me?"

"Of course. Snow or not, every Targaryen should know High Valyrian, and as soon as I find a few more misplaced books that I've been looking for, we'll add those to our lesson repertoire."

Lyaella smiled. Hopping off her chair, she moved around the table to give him an appreciative hug. "T-Thank you. I'd… I'd like that."

He chuckled, lightly patting her back before releasing her. "It is no trouble, little one. I've been waiting for so long to be able to give guidance to a member of my House again. It's nice not being alone, anymore."

Shireen giggled. "Maybe once you're fluent in High Valyrian, Lyaella, you could try singing and playing your lyre in the ancient language," she suggested. "I'd love to hear you sing and play."

She beamed. "Sure, Shireen, but if you want to hear me sing and play, I could go get my lyre now and—"

"That's Princess Shireen to you, bastard girl."

Everyone turned. Standing at the foot of the stairs was none other than Selyse Baratheon, her sharp features fixed in a cruel sneer.

Sam and Gilly quickly stood while Jon straightened at attention. Maester Aemon took a few extra seconds to rise, but Shireen and Lyaella stayed rooted in their chairs, both frozen at the sudden appearance of the strict woman.

"Your grace," said Jon, he, Sam, and Maester Aemon nodding respectfully. Gilly managed to make a nervous curtsy.

"Mother," said the little doe, rather surprised. "What are you doing here?"

The Baratheon queens' eyes narrowed. "Looking for you. I knew I'd find you wasting your time here in this dusty old library reading every book you could find… but I'm surprised by your choice of present company." Lyaella flinched as her attention turned to her. "What are you doing here? I thought my husband sent your fellow bastard Lord Commander to fetch you?"

Lyaella blinked. She glanced up at Jon questioningly. His expression had become quite stiff.

"Aye, the king did, your grace," he said curtly. "I was just about to inform her of such now."

"Good, take her out of here, then. And the rest of you leave us, too. I wish to speak to my daughter alone."

Without a word, the adults all quickly gathered their things and headed to the door, Jon only lingering back as he waited for Lyaella to hug her new book to her chest and hop out of her chair. Pausing only to offer Shireen a small friendly wave goodbye, she clung tightly to Jon's hand and stayed glued to his side as he pulled her towards the stairs.

"Your grace," he murmured, bowing his head respectfully as they passed.

Lyaella said nothing as they walked past the strict woman. She just trembled and moved closer to her father as the woman's eyes stayed fixated on her the whole time. She didn't dare let go of his hand until they were at the foot of the stairs and let him start climbing up first.

She had just started climbing up behind him when she heard the stag queen's voice drift into the stairwell. "You need to stay away from those girls."

Lyaella paused on the stairs, her shoulders trembling. Jon didn't notice and kept climbing up behind Maester Aemon and the others.

There was the scrape of a chair against the stone floor. "Those girls? You mean Lyaella and Gilly?"

"Of course that's who I mean!" the queen snapped. "From now on, you are to stay as far away from them as possible! You don't go anywhere without at least four of your father's guards accompanying you!"

"Why, Mother?" Lyaella heard Shireen ask, sounding genuinely perplexed and startled by the sudden intensity in her mother's insistence. "They've both very nice. I've only been teaching Gilly to read, and Lyaella and I have become very close friends."

"That woman back there is a Wildling. Your father executed their king, burned him at the stake as an offering for the Lord of Light. They could strike back at him by striking at you."

"Not Gilly. She wouldn't do that."

There was an audible scoff, courtesy of Lady Selyse. "You have no idea what people would do. All your books and you still don't know. Which is all the more reason you are to stay away from that monstrous child and that… that beast of hers!"

"Wha—? Lyaella?"

Lyaella quivered. Sucking in a deep breath, she crept down a few steps closer to the open archway to hear better.

"Yes," hissed Selyse. "From now on, you do not look at that girl. You do not speak to her. You will have nothing to do with that… that bastard Snow child. And should I catch you going anywhere near that dragon of hers, I'll have the books you brought here from Dragonstone thrown into the fire!"

"But… But Mother—"

"No, 'buts!' That girl is of Targaryen blood. Had you actually learned something from all those books you've read about the dragon house, you'd know that all Targaryen's are cruel and insane! And you're a Baratheon. Your father's staking a claim onto the Iron Throne. The same throne that our House took from House Targaryen! That girl has a dragon! She could hurt your father by setting her dragon on you!"

Her eyes watered, and she quickly covered her mouth with her palm to muffle a sob. Was she really being seen as a danger to everyone just because she had Sōnar with her? She'd never hurt Shireen. Shireen was her friend, the only friend she'd ever had aside from Torrhen, Sōnar, and Shadow. It didn't matter that she was of House Baratheon. The fact that Shireen was willing to look past the fact that she was both a Targaryen descendant and a girl with a 'Snow' surname meant everything to her.

She turned to go, but then—

"Lyaella wouldn't do that, Mother," said the princess, her voice surprisingly firm for once. "You'd know that if you were willing to get to know her before saying such cruel things."

Lyaella blinked as silence lingered in the library. Shireen… she was standing up for her? When was the last time someone had been kind enough to do that for her or Torrhen? People always saw what was on the surface when it came to them, so she wasn't even sure…

"You… You dare to talk back to me?!" Selyse hissed.

There was a brief pause, but then Shireen continued, her voice still rather firm. "I know I'm a disappointment to you, Mother. I know you hate the fact that I have this—" another slight pause "—on my face… I've accepted that. I've accepted that you wish I was dead instead of my three stillborn brothers, that's why I'm never allowed to go anywhere and have to stay indoors all the time back home. But… But I like having a friend. I don't want to be forced to stay away from the only girl my age I've met who doesn't care about my greyscale."

Lyaella couldn't help but smile. She was touched that Shireen valued their friendship just as much as she did. She'd definitely been wrong to be wary of her back she when first arrived at the Wall so long ago. She turned to leave and catch up with Jon before he or the others noticed she was missing.

"That mindset is precisely what gets fools in this world killed! You're too trusting! If you continue looking at people while only seeing the good in them instead of what they're capable of, you'll end up—! Wait, what was that?"

Lyaella froze. Her foot had accidentally slipped on a loose pebble lingering on the steps, and it was now bouncing down noisily down the rest of the stone stairs.

Hurried footsteps rushed to the stairs before Lyaella could do anything, and a moment later, the Baratheon queen's sneering face poked into the stairwell.

"You! What are you still doing here?!"

Lyaella gulped. "I-I-I… Well, I—"

Selyse shot up the steps, seizing Lyaella's wrist and dragging back down into the library. Startled, she accidentally dropped the High Valyrian book as she was tugged forward. Shireen gasped when she saw her nervous face.

"Lyaella? I thought you went—"

"Hush, child! You stay there and keep quiet!" Selyse snapped, barely glancing over at her daughter. Her attention was fixated on Lyaella the whole time, and the little girl trembled fearfully under her furious glare. "What were you doing on the stairs?! I thought I told the Lord Commander to take you to my husband!"

"I… I was… I—"

"Were you eavesdropping?! Trying to see if you could find something to exploit from myself or my daughter?!"

"N-No! I-I-I wasn't! I was… I— Please, l-let go!" Lyaella cried, wincing painfully as Selyse's fingers squeezed her wrist impossibly hard. "T-That… That hurts!"

"Mother, please!" Shireen begged, rushing around the table and grabbing onto the queen's cloak. "Let her go!"

"I told you, stay back there and keep quiet!" her mother snapped. "I will deal with your sinful behavior later. As for you—" she rounded back on Lyaella "—you will listen to me, bastard child."

Lyaella shook from head to toe, all coherent thoughts wiped clean from her mind as the stag queen's eyes narrowed into thin slits. She bent down to her level to look her right in the eye, gripping her shoulders tightly.

"Listen, and listen well. You are to stay away from my daughter," she hissed, her fingernails digging painfully into the child's upper arms. "Were it up to me, you would be dead. Your dragon would be dead. I don't care where you came from. I don't care what you think or feel. All I care about is that you stay away from my daughter! You keep that monster of yours away from her! Do not look at her! Do not speak to her! From this moment on, you will have nothing to do with the Princess Shireen of House Baratheon! Do you understand me?!"

The little girl whimpered, both in pain and in terror. She wanted to nod to get the woman to let her go, but she was frozen, unable to move a muscle.

"What, are you deaf?! Do you understand—?!"

"Your grace, I would ask that you let go of the ward of the Night's Watch, please."

Jon Snow stood at the foot of the stairs, his stance quite firm yet expression carefully neutral.

Lyaella's heart leapt. Her father. He was protecting her. There were indeed gods out there listening to people's prayers. Quick as a flash, she frantically tugged herself away from Queen Selyse and scampered up to him. Thank goodness he came when he did.

Selyse's inhaled slowly as she straightened up, her rage radiating off her quite plainly. "Lord Commander," she spat.

Jon stiffly nodded, gently nudging Lyaella behind him a bit without breaking his gaze with the older woman. "I apologize for not keeping her at my side while we were leaving. That was a mistake on my part," he said, "but I will not tolerate anyone trying to harm the ward of the Night's Watch."

"I am the Queen Selyse of House Baratheon," she snapped. "I was only warning that child to stay away from my daughter! I have a right as a mother to do as such!"

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But you have no right to touch her. You are indeed the queen, so I'll let this go this time, but should I find out that you dare to grab Lyaella in such a way again, I will inform the king. Your husband did agree to this term for both himself and from anyone in his company while he stays here at Castle Black."

Selyse swelled with all the fury known in the words of the Baratheon House, but Jon didn't give her an opportunity to continue. Bowing politely to her and Shireen one final time, he bent down, collected the fallen book, and passed it back to Lyaella as he clapped his hand firmly on her shoulder before steering her up the stairs.

Lyaella didn't dare say anything as they climbed the stone steps. She just bowed her head and squeezed her book on firmly to her chest as she leaned into his side. She was still trembling from head to toe, and her shoulder ached from where the stag queen's hands had gripped her.

"You shouldn't have lingered," Jon said suddenly, not glancing down at her as they emerged into the Castle Black courtyard. "It's… It's dishonorable to eavesdrop, if nothing else."

Lyaella flushed, embarrassed by the small chastise beyond all belief. "I… I'm s-sorry…" she murmured. "I h-hadn't planned to do so, but… but I heard her mention me. I wanted t-to know what she was telling Shireen about me… She… She t-told her to stay away from me from now on. Me and S-Sōnar…"

She half-expected him to shake his head in disapproval regardless, but to her surprise he didn't. He simply sighed. "I get it. I know what it's like, wondering what people say about you when they tell others to avoid you."

"R-Really? You… You do?"

"Perhaps not to the same extent as you, but aye. I'm a Snow too, after all. Some people didn't exactly want their children to play with the infamous Bastard of Winterfell."

Lyaella gazed up at him in wonder as he steered her up the wooden walkways. She never knew that. No one ever liked talking about her father to her and Torrhen in their timeline unless they were criticizing him for his mistakes. She never knew he went through similar mistreatment as them and was ostracized in a similar way. She wanted to know more.

"Like who? You're… You're Jon Snow, and Eddard Stark raised you. Who was openly mean to you when you were raised by the Warden of the North?"

It was the only way she could think to phrase her question while following the rules of Truth or Half-Truth. It was the truth that he was raised by Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, but she wouldn't call the late Lord Stark his father. That privilege would always belong to his real father, Rhaegar Targaryen.

Still, Jon didn't reply to her straight away. If anything, he looked pained by her question. "That's… That's something that's over and done with, now," he told her gruffly. "No point dwelling over it."

She frowned, her shoulder deflating a bit. She'd hoped for a moment there that perhaps he was finally opening up to her. "Oh, o-okay, then," she murmured. "Then… Then do you s-suppose you could train me again today for a little while? I know I… I t-trained with you earlier, but… b-but I really want to improve! Or could you take me to the… the t-top of the Wall later? I haven't gone up t-there yet. Could you—?"

"Sorry, I can't," he quickly cut her off. "In case you've forgotten, Stannis Baratheon wishes to speak with you."

"Oh," she muttered, stiffening nervously. "That's r-right… Why? Does he… Does he w-want to punish me like Lady Selyse for… for spending t-time with Shireen?"

"I don't know. He didn't explain his reasons."

Lyaella trembled as they approached the door to Jon's new quarters. He raised his fist to knock, but she promptly tugged on his cloak to get his attention.

"Will… W-Will you come in with me? I don't… I don't wanna be alone in there…"

"Sorry, I can't. I'm about to summon the rest of the men in the Watch for a meeting in the Mess Hall. I have to go."

"B-But—"

"You'll be fine. Stannis might be harsh man, but he seems practical. As does his hand, Ser Davos. He seems like an honest fellow. Nothing will happen, I promise."

Before she could utter another protest, he raised his fist and knocked three times.

"I have her, your grace. She's here." He glanced down at her, nodding politely. "Go on in. I'll see you soon." And with that, he turned sharply on his heel and headed back down the walkway.

Lyaella didn't know what to do. She didn't want Jon to leave her right now. She didn't want to go in there and speak to Stannis Baratheon. She'd tried to keep her head down here at Castle Black so as not to make him angry with her, but he still wanted to see her. She was tempted to run after Jon right now and ignore the king. Maybe she should at least call Sōnar down from the sky. If her dragon was here, she wouldn't feel nearly so—

The door abruptly swung open, revealing a kind, bearded face she knew all too well.

"Hello there, little one," said Ser Davos with a smile. "We've been expecting you."

Despite her nervousness, Lyaella couldn't help but shyly smile in return. Regardless of his current allegiance to House Baratheon, Lyaella was pleased to see the Onion Knight alive and well. He'd always been good to her and Torrhen when they saw him. Gathering her skirts of her dress, she made a quick, polite curtsy. "H-Hello…"

"Come in, please. His grace has been expecting you." He stepped out of the way and gestured for her to enter. She hesitated for a brief moment, her nerves settling in again, but with a deep breath she slowly entered the room.

Stannis was sitting behind the Lord Commander's desk, expression as stony as usual, and standing by near the fireplace in the corner was Lady Melisandre, smiling mysteriously. She froze the moment she saw them together, her nerves getting the better of her once again, but Ser Davos shut the door behind them and gently nudged her forward.

"Go on, it's all right," he assured her. "We only wish to talk."

Stannis nodded curtly. "It's all right. I assure you that I have no intention of harming you right now. Come closer."

Swallowing thickly, Lyaella hesitantly stepped closer to the desk. With shaky legs, she made a small, polite curtsy. "G-Good… Good day, Lord S-Stannis…" she whispered.

A pregnant pause filled the room, and Lyaella couldn't stop herself from shaking fearfully the entire time. She knew what she'd called him. It was the truth, after all. He really wasn't a real king at the end of the day. Stannis' seemingly blank expression suddenly becoming quite fixed. Ser Davos frowned, his face turning pensive, yet Lady Melisandre quirked her head a bit, curious.

"I am a king, child," he said slowly. "Not a lord. You shall address me as such, or refer to me as 'your grace.' Understood?"

Lyaella frowned. Setting her book down on the desk, and she wrung her hands together nervously, letting her eyes wander off aimlessly to the side. "I… I k-know what the proper way to address r-royalty is. But with all… all p-possible respect, Lord Baratheon, you're only… only a k-king claimant. Your last name's n-not Targaryen, nor are you f-from… from House Stark, the Kings of Winter. I have no reason to call you k-king if you're neither…"

Ser Davos glanced back nervously to Stannis at her answer. The king claimant lips turned downward, displeased, but luckily he didn't appear terribly angry. More like exasperated, as though he'd been expecting this response. Lady Melisandre only seemed more curious than ever.

"You're an intriguing child, Lyaella Snow. A very intriguing child."

Lyaella had no comment for that. She just avoided making all eye contact with the Red Woman as she possibly could. As much as she was scared of what Stannis Baratheon could do to her, Lady Melisandre frightened her far more than he did with the things she did in the name of the Lord of Light.

"Sit down," said Stannis quite abruptly. "I want us to have a little chat. Don't worry, all we're going to do is talk, you have my word."

She slid into the chair directly across from him, unable to suppress how much her body was quivering. "I… I d-don't know what's going on, but… b-but if you want to yell me too for playing with Shireen, I-I-I promise I'll stop! L-Lady Baratheon just… just warned me to stay away from her. I-It won't happen again…"

Stannis' shoulders twitched at her words, the only visible sign of surprise he made. His eyes flicked over to Ser Davos once, then promptly returned to her. "This is not about that, actually. I shall deal with that matter later. I've summoned you here to discuss far more pressing matters."

"L-Like what?"

"You. You and your missing brother. I know you mentioned before that your parents are dead, but I want to know who they were. Which of them was related to House Targaryen causing you and your brother to be bastards?"

Lyaella froze. "I… I'm not t-telling you that."

"Do you not understand that regardless of your personal beliefs, I am the one true king of Westeros? I am your king, and as king, I am ordering you to answer my questions. Who were your parents? Who are your relatives? How did they keep you and your brother a secret from my idiot brother Robert's spies? I had no love for him, but I cannot deny that his former spymaster Varys had his so-called 'little birds' everywhere. How did he fail to know about you?"

She gulped. She couldn't think of any possible way to win Truth or Half-Truth when answering these questions. To tell the whole truth would mean disaster. To tell half-truths would only result in more complicated questions, ones which she couldn't answer. She had no choice but to abstain from playing the game this time. Shaking her head lightly, she collected her book and hugged it to her chest as she gazed down at her knees.

Stannis seemed to understand what she was doing after an extended silence. "I need you to answer my questions." She shook her head, still not daring to glance up. "Child, answer me." She started shaking, eyes growing somewhat moist. "Tell me what you know. Now."

"I… I w-wont."

"Your grace, if I may?" said Ser Davos, stepping forward politely. "Perhaps we need to… offer her some better assurances that we don't wish any harm upon herself or her brother first before we keep insisting information?"

The stag king considered his words, but to everyones surprise, Lady Melisandre nodded in agreement. "Your hand speaks truly, my king. May I?"

He curtly nodded. "Do as your lord commands."

"Spoken with true belief, your grace," she said. Turning to Lyaella, she smiled and crossed the room with purposeful strides.

Lyaella shook harder than ever, her anxiety rising. Why couldn't have Jon have come in here with her right now? If he were here, she would be able to be brave around the murderous Red Woman. But she was alone right now. Ser Davos was trustworthy, but he was still loyal to Stannis right now, so he wouldn't be of much help to her. She was on her own with dealing with Lady Melisandre.

A particularly bad cough escaped her chest as she shifted to the very edge of her chair. Stupid dry air. "I… I would like to leave, p-please. I won't… I w-won't tell you about my family, no matter what you say."

"Then let's not talk about that right now," said the priestess, bending down to her level. "Let's discuss the priestess you spoke of before instead."

She heavily sighed. "I t-thought I told you that—"

"I know you said you wouldn't reveal her identity because she told you not to. I don't know which follower of R'hollor you or your brother met that would tell you such a thing, but you must understand… it's critical that you tell me at least whatever you can reveal."

Lyaella shook her head, fighting back another slight cough. "No."

The priestess frowned, suddenly becoming rather stern. "I cannot for King Stannis on this, but I will not let you leave this room until you tell me something."

Lyaella stubbornly remained silent, but both Ser Davos and Stannis turned to her in surprise.

"My lady?"

"Lady Melisandre, I thought we all agreed—"

"Forgive me for interrupting, my king, but you and Ser Davos fail to recognize the importance on her apparent past meeting with a fellow priestess of the true Lord's faith. She must reveal to us whatever she can, because it's clear she knows something about your destiny of being the Prince that was Promised that will bring the dawn."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because of what she said when you executed the false king amongst the Wildlings — that I'm apparently wrong about you being the 'one promised prince.'"

Lyaella felt herself go numb. No… no, no, no! How could she have made such a critical error? Had she simply kept her mouth shut when he had executed Mance Rayder, she probably wouldn't be here now! Her and her big mouth!

Ser Davos looked puzzled, but Stannis was suddenly alert, peering more intensely at Lyaella than he had before. Coughing a bit again, she flushed and averted her eyes. There was no way he was going to let her walk out of this room now. Not after what Lady Melisandre had just pointed out.

"What do you know about the ancient prophecy?" he probed. "What did that priestess tell you about my destiny?"

She bit her lip, breathing heavily. What was she supposed to say? She didn't want to alter time to much in terms of Stannis Baratheon's fate. He didn't seem like a bad man, but he was still aiming for her parents rightful throne. He needed to die if they were to ever have a chance at ruling one day. But if she didn't tell him something, he might go back on his word about not hurting her. What to do? What to do? What to do?

"Child, I'm waiting for an answer. What do you know about the legend of Azor Ahai's rebirth?"

She had to play Truth or Half-Truth right now. It was the only thing she could do to keep from revealing too much yet still appease him. "I… Well… the p-priestess Tory and I met told us that there's… there's supposed to be a Prince and Princess that was P-Promised… not just one or the other…"

For the first time, Lady Melisandre appeared genuinely surprised, as she jerked her head back a bit while blinking repeatedly. Ser Davos furrowed his brows, but Stannis tilted his head, intrigued.

"Is that true, Lady Melisandre? Is there really two people spoken of in this prophecy?"

She didn't answer right away. She rose from the ground with a contemplative expression. Not even looking at her king, she paced back and forth across the room, seemingly deep in thought.

Lyaella had no idea what could be going through her mind right now, but the sound of Ser Davos nervously clearing his throat quickly drew her attention. "Your grace, I've cautioned you many times about reading into this prophecy too much. This only proves that the legend itself is nonsense. Lady Melisandre doesn't appear to know anything about this detail, and she's the one who's proclaimed the reborn savior."

Stannis inhaled slowly through his nose, not giving the knight a response. Instead, he glanced back over at the still pacing priestess. "Lady Melisandre?"

"I'm thinking, my king."

"About?"

She stopped, turning to look at him. "I remember back at the temple in Volantis, there were some who had been going through the ancient texts and transcribing them in the most recent years just before I left for Westeros. I recall hearing a few whispers amongst my fellow sisters that there was possibly a mistranslation in the ancient texts regarding the legend… but very few believed it at the time. I myself did not think this was true. I suppose it's possible that since my departure, a more accurate translation has happened. I would need to send a raven to the high priestess herself regarding this matter for more details."

"Is there anything else you could do now?" he inquired. "This is all news to me, and if there's anything else that can be done, I ask that you do it."

Lady Melisandre smiled. "I shall look into the flames for you, my king. I shall interpret what the Lord himself has to say about this."

Nodding respectfully to Stannis, she promptly walked over to the crackling fireplace in the corner, staring intensely into the flames. Lyaella blinked after her, surprised that she was looking for whatever sign she was hoping for right now. But Stannis' next words caught her attention.

"A princess in the prophecy…" he mused, chin resting on both his knuckles as he stared down intensely at a random spot on the desk surface. "My daughter?"

Ser Davos tensed. "Your grace, it's one thing to pursue your own claim for the Iron Throne, but the Princess Shireen… she and Queen Selyse only accompanied us here to Castle Black because you were worried about their safety on Dragonstone, in the event the Lannister's laid siege to the castle. Your daughter only turned ten earlier this year. I do not think it's wise to get her involved in any of this. At the very least, Queen Selyse should be made part of this discussion before you decide anything."

Lyaella clutched her necklace, regret pooling deep in her belly. She should have just screamed at the top of her lungs for Sōnar to come down here. If she'd done that, Stannis wouldn't have been able to stop her from just running out the door. If because of her stupid half-truth Shireen ended up in an early grave prior to her real death in her timeline—

"Agreed, Ser Davos. But there's also another possibility for the supposed-princess." His dark eyes flicked back to her. Lyaella jumped, startled. "You are a Targaryen bastard with a dragon, after all. And unlike the Dragon Queen across the sea, you're here in front of me. Who exactly were your parents, Lady Snow? Any direct relation to the Mad King?"

Despite her slight fear, Lyaella sat up straighter in her seat, her brows furrowing pointedly. "Do not… Do not call me a princess," she said, mustering up as much force as she could to sound strong. "I'm a n-no one, a Snow."

"Snow or not you have more kings blood flowing through your veins than even I do. Were it not for the fact that you are a Snow, you'd have a higher claim to the Iron Throne than I would, believe it or not."

"N-No, I wouldn't. Torrhen would… He's a b-boy, after all…"

He cracked a tiny smirk. "True, very true. I suppose I'd have a real problem on my hands in terms of staking my claim if your brother was here right now."

Lyaella awkwardly nodded. She honestly had no idea where he was going with all this. "Is… Is there anything else you wanted from me? I'm not s-saying… saying anything else about T-Torrhen or my parents. So, can I go please, my lord?"

His smile vanished again at her words. Closing his eyes, he gathered himself to ensure he'd stay emotionless, then slowly looked back at her again.

"Again, I ask that you remember that I am a king, Lady Snow. It'd be in your best interest to remember that from now on."

"Why?"

"Because I wish to offer you a bargain. Probably the best bargain would be willing to offer an illegitimate child of House Targaryen."

She tilted her head, puzzled. "A bargain? With me?"

"That's correct."

"Why? What kind of bargain?"

"The kind that promises you safety and a better life for yourself and possibly your brother too if and when he's found he agrees to my terms. And as for why, it's fairly simple. Your very existence makes for… a complicated political quandary, and on top of that, you have a dragon. I wish to rectify the political aspect of your existence here and now, because despite your Targaryen lineage, you are only a threat to my claim because of your blood… and because of what you could do to my forces with your dragon."

Lyaella tensed. She was fairly certain she knew where Stannis was going with this, and if her instincts were right, she was not comfortable. "Sōnar my friend. I… I'm not p-planning to hurt anyone with her. Not unless s-someone… someone attacks me first."

He nodded. "Exactly. You just proved my point."

She blinked, puzzled.

"You have a dragon, but you don't have the same bloodlust as the Mad King was said to have," he explained. "I've no doubt that if he'd had that dragon of yours out there, he'd have set King Landing aflame without a second thought… but then again that wouldn't have been necessary. He'd have burned both his son and my idiot brother along with both their armies back on the Trident. It's well known that he laughed while burning the late Rickard Stark alive with Wildfire while his heir strangled himself to death trying to save him, after all."

Lyaella thickly swallowed. There was no doubt in her mind that those scenarios definitely would have occurred if her Targaryen grandfather and great-grandfather had indeed had a dragon so many years ago. Her mother was only known as the Mad Queen because of how the Starks drove her towards madness. The Mad King, though? She and Torrhen knew the truth about what he'd planned to do to King's Landing before he died, after all…

"The fact that you have no intention of doing such a thing proves you have a good head on your shoulders. That being said… you're only a threat to my claim because of your lineage and your dragon. You yourself don't seem to have the strength to even be a threat."

Lyaella stared, as did Ser Davos.

"Your grace?"

Stannis glanced over at his Hand, gesturing to the little girl. "Take a look at her, Ser Davos. Not counting her hair color and that Targaryen necklace 'round her neck, what do you see?"

The smuggler turned to her, eyes flicking up and down her hunched up figure on the chair in obvious bewilderment. Lyaella kept gazing back and forth between the two of them, wondering what on earth was happening now.

"I… I see a little girl, your grace."

"But what about this child sticks out to you, Ser Davos? Aside from the obvious dragon traits in her appearance, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

Ser Davos glanced at her, eyes silently offering her an apology. She had no idea what the old knight was going to say, but whatever it was, she wouldn't hold it against him. Stannis was the one forcing him to say whatever he saw when looking at her, it wasn't Ser Davos' will to say this.

"I'd say… confusion, your grace. She seems confused by what's going on, and nervous."

He nodded. "Yes, that's right. You're nothing at all like the mad Targaryen's that your House is known for, Lyaella Snow. Instead of being cruel like the Mad King, you're surprisingly kind. Instead of getting angry when people insult you, you hold your tongue and cry. You're shy, too. You're nothing at all what people would expect a Targaryen to be… you even befriended my daughter. The rightful crown princess of House Baratheon. House Baratheon led to the downfall of House Targaryen."

Lyaella felt distinctly hot in the face as she her eyes trail off. Nothing Stannis said right now was untrue, but… but his words still stung her as though they'd been thrown at her like an indirect insult. "Shireen is like… like me, my l-lord. Neither of us had even b-been alive when people plotted t-to overthrow House Targaryen. She's… She's no more at f-fault than I am for what's happened to my House. M-More than that, she's the… only person my age I've ever had for a f-friend, not counting Tory, Shadow, and Sōnar."

"Once again, you shall address me as 'your grace,' or 'my king.' But you are right about that. Many Targaryen's out there would have simply decided to hate all of House Baratheon if in the event they were in your place right now. That you have the decency to realize that Shireen is a completely innocent party is very different than how the Mad King would have seen things, if he was still alive."

She nodded, frowning sadly. "Yes… I'm s-sorry if I was out of line by playing with her… I'll do as your wife says and stay away from n-now on… But could you apologize t-to her for me? I never got the chance t-to say goodbye to her when her mother demanded we stop playing."

He frowned, annoyed. "Don't worry about that, you're free to spend as much time around my daughter as you wish."

"B-But… But your wife told me—"

"I shall deal with my wife at a l-later time. I've never seen my daughter so happy since before coming here, and even though we'll be leaving soon, I'm glad she's found a friend. If anything, the fact that you two are friends is part of the reason why I want to make this bargain with you."

"And… And what b-bargain is that?"

A small smirk cracked across is otherwise stone-like face. "The same one I offered the new Lord Commander, yet he turned down. Bend the knee. Pledge you'll support my claim as king and allow me to use your dragon to win the Iron Throne, and I swear that you'll be under my protection, as will your brother once he's found if he does the same. I'll even legitimize you under a surname of your choice, provided it's not Targaryen."

Lyaella shot to her feet so fast, she knocked her chair over. Both men jolted from her unexpected action, and even the red priestess tore her eyes away from the fire in alarm.

"Goodness!" Lady Melisandre exclaimed. "I know the Lord told me you'd be overwhelmed with emotion when his grace told you his offer, but still!"

Ser Davos chuckled, strolling over and setting the chair right-side up. "Must be quite a shock for you, young lady," he said kindly. "Offered the chance to be legitimized."

Another small smile appeared on Stannis' face. "I take it you're going to agree, then?"

Lyaella stared at him, wide-eyed but her face otherwise blank. For the longest time, she just stood there, unmoving and face unreadable. Stannis' grin slowly fell as he stared at her, puzzled. He soon turned to glance at his two advisers.

"Is she all right? I know she's overly emotional, but still…"

Lady Melisandre appeared equally confused. Ser Davos' brows furrowed as he gently shook her shoulder.

"Lyaella? Are you—"

"Keep your offer. No deal."

The adults barely had time to even absorb what she said before Lyaella promptly gathered her skirts, curtsied politely, and then sharply spun around, marching to the door.

Stannis blinked repeatedly, then promptly stood up himself. Crossing the room in several long strides, he caught the girls' shoulder just as she'd been reaching for the doorknob. "Lady Snow, are you fully aware of what it is I'm offering you? I'm giving you the chance to no longer be seen as a bastard. For you to live a somewhat normal life despite your—"

"Despite my what? My silver hair? My heritage?"

The sudden bitterness in her tone knocked all three adults for a loop, as did her lack of stutter. She'd stared solely at the door as she said this, but upon receiving no response, she snapped her head up at Stannis, her generally sweet gray eyes narrowed furiously at the stag king.

"You… You sound just like that other man who was pretending to run things here before… Jon was elected Lord Commander," she snipped. "That old knight, Thorne. He thought he could bribe me with that, too! Said that he'd been loyal to House Targaryen back in his day before your brother Robert sentenced… sentenced him here to the Wall, so he'd do whatever he could to house me here permanently at the Wall if I told the men here in the Watch that… that I'd let them use Sōnar to hunt down Wildlings! He thought that'd help him become Lord Commander! You wanna know what I told him, Lord Stannis?"

Stannis blinked at her, eyes quickly shifting over to take in the equally stunned looks on Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre's faces before slowly gazing back down at the furious child.

If anything, her glare seemed to twist into an even more furious sneer. "I told him the same thing! Keep your offer! No deal! Sōnar's… Sōnar's not a weapon! She's my sister! My friend! And I'm… I'm not a pawn in your games to become king! You don't really care about protecting me… you just want my dragon to win the Iron Throne for you! I still think Shireen is a good person, and I'm glad that I got to have her for a friend, however short of time that was… but you can't buy me over with such an empty gesture!"

Silence filled the room, neither Stannis nor either of his advisers seeming to know what to say in reply to this. Lyaella panted heavily as she glared up at the Baratheon king. She shook her head, disgusted by the man. What was wrong with all false kings and queens in this world? Were they all so thick-headed to believe that they could buy allies with these tactics?! For all the times people called her father a Northern Fool in her timeline, this was one time that she could honestly believe he'd actually been wise all along. Only an arrogant fool would agree to be legitimized. Thank goodness he'd been smart enough to turn the legitimization offer down when he did.

"If that's all you wanted me for, may I leave now?" she snipped. "I'd much rather be anywhere else in Castle Black right now."

Stannis seemed completely lost for words. The stoic man was actually showing emotion, he was so shocked. He didn't even answer her. He just stared at her in disbelief.

Shaking her head again, Lyaella threw him one last cold glare and reached for the door handle.

"Why are you so against his grace's offer?" said Lady Melisandre quite suddenly.

Clutching her book tightly with one hand and the door handle with the other, Lyaella glared pointedly at the door. Focusing on a particular deep knot in the wood was the only way she could keep her tone angry right now instead of succumbing to rapidly incoming sobs. "That's not your concern."

"Oh? And why is that? It wouldn't have anything to do with what the Lord showed me in the flames right now, does it?"

"And just what did the Lord of Light show you?"

"I believe I saw you when you were far younger, and even your dark-haired brother, though I admit I couldn't see his face. It was fleeting, but I believe you were both mentioned regarding something about a wisp of blood."

Quick as a flash, Lyaella whipped around, nearly falling backwards onto Stannis. The Baratheon quickly leapt aside.

"Goodness, child! I know you're mad, but—"

"W-What… What did y-you say…?"

Stannis and his advisers were again taken off guard. All of Lyaella's previous anger had vanished in an instant. She was frozen in shock as she stared directly at the red priestess, her face growing whiter and whiter with each passing second.

Ser Davos was quite alarmed. "Lyaella? What's wrong?"

Lyaella didn't even seem to hear him. She started trembling, taking small steps backward away from Lady Melisandre until her back pressed up against the door. "You… You said…"

"I only repeated what the Lord showed me in his vision of you and who I presume was your brother. What is—"

"What y-you said…" she whispered, horror quite evident in her words. "You… How could you k-know…?" She seemed to snap out of it with a quick head shake, but even when she looked up again, the adults could all see that she was clearly somewhat in shock. "Y-You stay away from me! I… I don't know how you know that, but… but stay away from me! Stay away from Sōnar!"

Rationality all but gone, she whirled back around, flung the door open, and dashed out of the room without a second glance.

Lyaella didn't even know where she was running to, she was still so shocked. Her feet were just running along the wooden walkways, and she just went along with them. How? How could Lady Melisandre know about that? She… She was dead in the future! There's no way she could possibly know about—

A door suddenly banged open down on the main ground level of the courtyard. It snapped Lyaella out of her slight state of panic, and she skidded to a halt as she peered down below.

---

The bitter aftertaste of ale burned strongly across Jon's tongue as he marched out of the Main Hall. The rest of the sworn brothers were already gathered outside around the lone wooden platform off to the side of the courtyard. Unlike the rest of the wooden walkways in Castle Black, this was one was different because it connected to nowhere, it stood alone from the rest of the high platforms with only the wooden steps on the ground leading up to its main level. In the entirety of Jon's time in the Night's Watch, there had never been need for this particular platform. Lord Commander Mormont had been a strict man, but still fair to all the brothers, so no one ever had any need to disobey his orders. Thorne probably would have loved to sentence him here after he came back from his spying mission on the Wildlings, but sadly he'd been overruled on that count by the other officers. Still, despite how unpleasant the acting-Lord Commander had been to him in particular prior to his own election, he'd kept everyone on their toes with the approaching threat of Mance's Wildling army. Not everyone may have liked Thorne, but they still obeyed his orders, so he'd never had a reason to have someone up here, either.

But now when he was the new Lord Commander, someone had finally directly disobeyed one of his first commands. Not only that, they'd publicly insulted him while doing so. Which left him no other choice. For the fist time since his own arrival at Castle Black, the Night's Watch would be holding an official execution for one of its own. And as Lord Commander, it was his duty to carry out that task.

The rest of the brothers watched him pensively as he approached Olly by the stairs, but he didn't dare gaze at anyone as he accepted his sword from his young steward. He was no longer a regular recruit amongst them. He was Lord Commander, and he had to be seen as the one in charge. He kept an aloof, icy mask on his face as he climbed the steps. He didn't even look over at Edd as he helped the two other brothers in restraining Janos Slynt so his head hung over the edge of the chopping block. He just moved into position beside the disobedient man and calmly unsheathed Longclaw.

"If you have any last words, my lord, say them now."

For all of Slynt's shouting a few minutes ago while the men dragged him out here on not being afraid and about having friends in high places back in King's Landing, the man was shaking in terror now. Tears dribbled down his cheeks as he gazed up at him fearfully. "I-I-I'm sorry! I was — I was wrong!" he whimpered. "Y-You're — You're the Lord Commander, w-we all serve you! I'm sorry! Not only f-for — for this, b-but for everything! And for w-what — what I said about the T-Targaryen child!"

Catching a whiff of urine in the air, Jon simply narrowed his eyes. Pathetic, so pathetic. How much lower could he sink to right now? The man was a coward, plain and simple. He'd heard as much from Sam and Gilly when he'd hidden away during Mance's attack on Castle Black, but seeing it with his own eyes was a whole other matter. He'd directly refused his order to pack his bags and take up the command post at Greyguard. Whether Slynt liked him or not, he was the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He refused to to obey his orders, and therefore he had to die. The fact that prior to this everyone had been asking what he planned to do about Lyaella Snow and Slynt accused him of only letting the 'monstrous dragon bastard' and her 'fire breathing lizard' follow him around so much was because he was secretly like all the other known pedophiles that had been sentenced to the Wall for hurting kids was completely irrelevant. Jon had been disgusted by his accusation, and his rage had only grown when Slynt mocked him further. After he'd calmed the room and explained to everyone he was still deliberating on what was the best thing to do about the Targaryen girl, Slynt yelled that if he really cared about the Watch he'd write to the Lannister's immediately about Lyaella, but the fact that he wasn't proved he really did have other reasons for wanting her to stay.

Everyone else had the sense to not join in on Slynt's mocking, as no one else found it funny. Not even Thorne. Oddly enough, that was probably why Thorne simply stood aside when Jon told the others to take Slynt outside. Guess it was a good thing he'd been a Targaryen loyalist back in his day.

Still, Slynt's hatred towards Lyaella and her dragon was not the reason for his death now. His accusations were beyond dishonorable, but Jon could have quietly disregarded them. It was the fact that Slynt refused to obey his command that he had to kill the man.

Sucking in a breath, he raised his sword—

"M-My lord, please!" the blade halted in midair. "Mercy! Mercy, p-please! I'll go! I w-will! Please…" he begged, his tears now becoming blubbering sobs. "I'm… I-I-I'm afraid. I've always been afraid…"

There was a momentary silence, as Jon stared him down. Then he quickly swung his blade. With one slice, Janos' head was cut clean off, and it bounced right down the steps and towards the assembled crowd.

A startled shout abruptly rang out, and immediately, everyone's heads whipped up to the walkways. Near the entrance to Jon's new office stood Stannis and his advisers, but further down the walkway was Lyaella, her eyes bulging and both hands covering her mouth.

It took every bit of willpower Jon had to not visibly react to her horror. What was she doing out here? Didn't Stannis say he wanted to talk to her? Judging by the slight nod the Baratheon king was giving him, he seemed to understand and approve of Janos' execution, but why hadn't he, Davos, and Melisandre kept her inside while all this was happening? Jon still didn't know what to make of the dragon child's strange attachment to him and wished she'd find someone else here at Castle Black to follow around obsessively, but he'd been comforted thinking that she wasn't around right now and wouldn't have to witness this. She'd been so upset by Mance's execution, after all…

Ignoring the twinge of guilt eating away at him, Jon thrust Longclaw to Olly to clean and looked away from Lyaella. Turning to a group of lingering stewards, he jerked his head at the decapitated body. "Cart him down below, and find his head." Then he glanced over at some builders off to the side. "You lot gather wood for a fire."

Silently, the stewards and builders in question did as he commanded, and even extra builders jogged off to help with finding kindling for the pyre. Everyone else just slowly pandered away, some choosing to linger and talk quietly while others went back inside to get warm. No one looked as though they'd be disobeying his orders anytime soon.

He sighed and headed down the stairs to follow after Olly. The sooner he reclaimed Longclaw, the sooner he could head back to his new quarters and let out the full extent of his displeasure for this execution in private now that Stannis was out. He barely made it more than halfway across the courtyard though before he caught a glimpse of a small silver-haired figure hurrying down the walkway steps.

"Jon?" said Lyaella, keeping one hand on her chest as she half-coughed while running up to him. She was slightly out of breath from the quick run. "Jon… why d-did you do that?"

"I can't talk now," he told her gruffly, sweeping past without a glance. He couldn't talk to her now, not when so many people were still mulling about out here. Between everything Janos had been mocking him about regarding her and then needing to maintain his aloof expression until he was alone in his solar, he needed to keep some distance between himself and Lyaella right now. It was the only way he could maintain respect through the Night's Watch.

Sadly, Lyaella just picked up the pace to walk in time with his fast strides. Another loose cough escaped her again, but she recovered fairly quickly. "I j-just need a… a second!" she insisted. "Why did you… you k-kill that man?"

Thorne and some of the officers glanced their way. Jon sighed, wishing desperately he could rub his temples. This was not the time for her to be pestering him. Why didn't she get that? "He refused to obey my orders, all right?"

She gaped, astonished. "You… You killed j-just because of that? That's… T-That's terrible!"

He didn't respond to that beyond a grunt of acknowledgment. Nodding to Olly, he swiped Longclaw from his steward with enough force to startle the poor boy. He didn't linger around to apologize, though. Not when he felt a tiny hand persistently tugging on his cloak.

"Jon? Please… P-Please don't ignore me! Tell me why you… y-you had to execute him just for that."

He grit his teeth. "It was necessary, Lyaella," he tightly muttered, sheathing his sword. Snow kicked up around him with every harsh footfall.

She was nearly running to keep up with him, not at all deterred. "But why?"

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, temper rising. Why? Why now? Why was she bothering him now?! He swiped his hand over his face and sighed. "Because sometimes leaders have to do terrible things to maintain order."

"No, I m-mean… why did you h-have to kill him? And w-why did you have to behead him like that? T-That was—"

He whipped around. "You're seriously asking me that?! I thought you said you're a Northerner?! Every Northerner knows that the man who passes the sentence swings the sword!"

It was so quiet in the courtyard, the only sound to be heard was the whistling of the wind. All across the courtyard, everyone stopped, turning to stare. Even people walking across the walkways halted to gaze down at him. Lyaella flinched away from him, lower lip quivering from his harsh tone.

Jon's stomach twisted into knots. Shit. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair before glancing down apologetically. "That — That came out wro—"

She stepped back, her eyes watering as she glanced down at her feet. "N-No, I get it. I'm… I'm s-sorry…"

"No. I — I didn't mean—"

"I w-wasn't aware of that. T-Tory and I… we couldn't possibly know that thanks to our relatives!"

He blinked, startled. She'd snapped at him. Snapped. Aside from the occasions when she'd been screaming in terror, he'd never heard her raise her voice before. All across the courtyard, everyone else seemed equally caught off guard.

Her whole body trembled with suppressed rage as she kept gazing down at the snowy ground. Then, quite unexpectedly, her head shot up, revealing sharp, teary gray eyes. "O-Our relatives like to pretend they're Northerners. They… They pride t-themselves for being such… but they've spent s-so much time in the S-South they act like Southerners! Our oldest… oldest aunt is in c-charge of our family, and when she h-has people executed, she… she has an executioner d-do it! She never s-swings the sword herself…!"

Jon bit his lip as she stopped to gasp for breath. "Oh. I… I see. I—"

"N-No!" she rasped, her hand clawing at her heart as she furiously shook her head. Hot angry tears streamed down her cheeks, her face as red as a cherry in her rage. "No, you didn't see! You… You w-weren't there! You're not allowed t-to yell at me for… for things I c-can't help not knowing 'cause you w-weren't there! I can't help that I know nothing, Jon Snow!"

A jolt ran through Jon as she completely broke down sobbing. Those words… So similar to what a certain spitfire archer used to say to him, but yet so different, too…

Grimacing at his own lack of patience, Jon hesitantly reached out to pat her shoulder. "L-Lyaella—"

She snarled, whacking his hand aside. Throwing him one last tearful sneer, she shoved past and darted away. She barely made it more than a few yards though when she suddenly stopped, clapping a hand to her mouth as she doubled over, coughing hard again.

Despite how upset she was, Jon couldn't help but furrow his brows. "Hey," he called, slowly approaching. "Are you ok—?"

"I-I'm fine!" she snipped, hastily straightening up. "Just leave me alone!" She started running again, but once again stopped after only two or three steps, whipping around to shoot him a icy glare. "Oh, and for t-the record… I was only c-curious why it was necessary to kill him by b-beheading! I… I wouldn't want to s-see a man hanged 'cause… 'cause that's how my father died, b-but — but it's still better than seeing a man's h-head chopped off 'c-cause that how people wanted to kill him!"

A heavy stone dropped in Jon's stomach. He froze right where he was, utterly speechless. Everyone watching did double-takes at the little girl, even Stannis and those in his army. But Lyaella didn't stick around for anyone to recover from their shock. She just sobbed and bolted off to the elevator leading up to the top of the Wall. With a cough-fueled furious cry, she threw her whole body on the lever crank to make it go up. As soon as the lift started rising, she flung herself on board and slammed the door shut behind her. Everyone was silent as they watched her slowly ascend to the top of the frozen glacier, no one daring to go to the pulley and force the lift down again. Her sobs could still be heard by everyone in the courtyard until she and the elevator were nothing more than brief specks high in the sky.

For a little while, no one said anything, let alone moved. But even when the first rare souls managed to clear their throats and go about their business again, Jon felt everyone's judging eyes slowly turn to him. He knew what they must be thinking right now. Seven hells, he knew what he'd be thinking had someone else said what he'd said to her and then she revealed that. He let out a pained sigh, covering his face with his palm as shame coiled in his gut.

Fuck.

---

The air was much thinner at the top of the Wall, dryer. It was windier too, and that made it colder. That was why there were so many little metal barrels for the men of the Watch to light fires in and huddle around when on to watch duty. But those who were assigned to this task right now were avoiding the lookout point closest to the elevator. Because with a certain dragon child having decided to come hide away up here, her dragon was over there now too, softly rumbling comforting rumbles as she wept into white and blue scales.

Lyaella sobbed and sobbed as she hugged Sōnar, burying her face into her long neck. The moment she'd arrived up here, she had just pushed past every other startled lookout man and ran to the closest opening near the edge of the Wall, literally screaming at the top of her lungs for her dragon to come over. The Watchers hadn't been pleased by the idea and tried shoving her rudely back to the elevator despite her tears, but when Sōnar fluttered down from the sky and saw her being manhandled like that, she had been livid, roaring and spitting out warning embers for everyone to get away from her little mistress. Since then, everyone just gathered to the far side of the Wall and left them be. Neither Lyaella nor Sōnar were causing any problems for now, nor was the dragon trying to hurt anyone… though that could change if someone did try forcing them to go. They just left them alone and prayed they'd go away eventually.

Lyaella wasn't sure how long she stayed up there for while crying to her dragon, but by the time she finally mustered the strength to hiccup breathlessly as she poked her head out, it was nighttime. It'd been mid-afternoon when she finally snapped after her long, horrible bad day, but everything that had happened led to her completely breaking down and forgetting the world existed for the past several hours. It was pitch black outside, and between the clouds covering the sky, she could just barely make out the twinkling white dots of the faraway stars.

Panting heavily from all her tears, she scrubbed her eyes dry and leaned back softly against Sōnar's neck, gently stroking her scales. "I… I h-hate it here, Sōnar…" she sobbed. "I wish… I wish T-Torrhen and Shadow were here. They're the s-strong ones, after all… They'd be able t-to… to deal with all this…"

Sōnar crooned, tucking Lyaella further under wings so she'd stay warm. Lyaella accepted the embrace, sucking in a deep breath as she snuggled even closer while closing her eyes. Were it not so bitter cold up here and her chest so tight and filled with icky phlegm from sniffling so hard as she cried, she could easily fall asleep right now, lulled to dreamland by the steady rhythm of Sōnar's heartbeat. Back when she was little and Sōnar and Shadow were still small enough that Queen Sansa didn't yet lock them away in the kennels, she and Torrhen had demanded that their beds be pushed together so the four of them could all sleep together. From the moment Sōnar first hatched and they first found Shadow to the day that they grew too big, they did that every night. Those were the best times, sleeping together like that. Almost as good as—

Her eyes flew open and she took another deep breath, not letting herself finish that thought. She was a Northerner, she remembered that time, way back when… but she didn't like remembering it. She and Torrhen knew the condition they set for themselves regarding those days — never forget them, but don't dwell on them. So long as they remembered but didn't let it define them, they could deal with it. They could deal with the additional pain the Starks cut them with.

The wind whipped past, and Lyaella coughed up a small spectral of mucus as the tiny side braid Shireen made for her slapped her cheek. Batting it away with so she could cover her mouth, it whacked her again, landing close to her eyes. She face scrunched up, annoyed. Ignoring the additional wetness gathering from the irritation, she sucked down the snot she felt clinging to the back of her throat and shakily unwound the cute weave. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, but she disregarded it. She'd said it herself before that she didn't deserve a braid. She'd done nothing in her life to be worthy of a braid like her amazing mother. She wasn't strong like her. She wasn't brave like her father. Heck, it was clear that her father didn't even like her, period.

More tears flooded her eyes, and she gasped breathlessly as a few more sobs escaped her lungs. Jon didn't like her. He hated her. Her future father hated her… She fisted her dragon pendant and the collar of her dress right beneath it into her hand as more aching pain emanated from her chest. For all the times people had told her she was the smart one between her and Torrhen, she was actually dumber than the late Ned Stark. She was so stupid to think she could eventually make Jon come to like her even without telling him that she was his future daughter. She'd done everything she could to forge a bond with him — being kind and friendly despite her shyness, begging him to train her, following him around nonstop one day to see if she could help him with anything, congratulating him when he'd been chosen as the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch… But every time he'd acted cool and distant towards her, refusing to let her get too close. She'd simply thought that he was aloof by nature and wood warm up to her in time, but it was clear now that that would never happen. She'd purposefully never even come here to the top of the Wall yet during all her time at Castle Black because she'd wanted her first visit to the top to be a special experience with him showing her the view. It was too dark right now to truly see anything out in the Lands of Always Winter, but it was still her first visit to the top right now, and he wasn't here. She'd never get that experience with him. He didn't want anything to do with her, let alone give share a special experience like that.

But she'd said to him right after he yelled at her… She shouldn't have said that. She shouldn't have gotten so upset and told him what happened to him in her timeline. Granted, she was pretty sure Jon was still clueless on who she really was and she tell him all the details on why he died, but even so… she really messed up. Even though she followed the rules of Truth or Half-Truth and didn't explain everything, could revealing that half-truth have a bad effect on the future?

Sighing heavily, she tried to close her eyes again and nestle up against Sōnar's warm belly to get closer to her wing, but the moment she exhaled her whole chest became incredibly tight, making it impossible for her to intake as much air as she needed to.

Alarmed, Lyaella sat straight up, keeping one hand on her chest as she wheezed out the little air she managed to suck in. A light whistling noise emanated from her mouth as she did so, and seconds later she broke out coughing again. Hard. Her dragon squawked, turning her long neck to look at her curiously.

As soon as the coughs subsided, the little girl tried harder than ever to take in more air, but again, she could make her lungs go so far before they were forced to retract again. It was too painful to make them go any further right now with her chest being so tight. She barely managed to finish exhaling before she wheezed in more ice cold oxygen.

Dread seeped through Lyaella all the way down to her bones. This was bad. The last few times she'd gotten all breathless and tight chested, she coughed a lot yet never actually wheezed. Yet she wasn't even doing anything right now except sitting next Sōnar while crying, and she was rasping for breath. Her lungs weren't just having an off-moment this time. This was potentially going to be a very bad attack. If she didn't do something to stave off the symptoms straight away…

She shook her head. No, best not to think about that. Right now, she just needed to get back down to the courtyard and quietly enter the Main Hall without attracting anyone's attention. If someone saw her breathing hard, they'd drag her straight to Master Aemon for that disgusting potion of watered down red wine and owls blood. She liked her uncle well enough, but she was not drinking that tonic again. Not for anything. So long as she managed to drink some water fairly quickly, that should stave off the symptoms, at least well enough to make it through tonight. She'd figure something else out if this was still happening come tomorrow morning. Right now, she just needed to find some water to deal with the immediate problem.

With shaky legs, Lyaella sucked in a deep breath before attempting to rise. The sudden change in the way her chest was forced to move made her break out coughing again, and she leaned up against Sōnar with one hand for support while clapping the other to her mouth as she doubled over. Phlegm danced around sporadically in her chest with each cough, and Sōnar whined worriedly, nuzzling her cheek gently with her head.

As soon as she was able to, Lyaella lowered her hand back to her chest and slowly glanced at her dragon. "I… I need you to… to meet me down below, Sōnar…" she wheezed. "We've gotta… We've gotta find me… some water…!"

Sōnar seemed to understand this particular attack was worse than others had been recently, and she rumbled with a quick bob of her head. Nudging her snout encouragingly against Lyaella's chin for reassurance, the white dragon spread her wings, and took off into the air, soon diving down back to the main level of Castle Black.

Relieved, Lyaella moved closer to the edge of the carved out ice wall next to her, and started walking with incredibly small steps back to the lift. It was a long ride back down, so she had to hurry. Every second was a second that counted right now, and until she got some water, they were potentially ticking away the amount of time she had left before her lungs potentially shut down on her.

She was only a few feet away from the elevator and beginning to think she might be able to get down without anyone up here noticing her breathing trouble when a long Watcher rounded the corner, seeing her alone.

"Oy! What happened to your dragon?"

She stood up straighter, not even daring to let herself breathe at all in case he heard her wheezing. "Sōnar… she went back… back down…" she slowly answered. "She wanted to… to go to sleep early, tonight… I-I-I would too, actually…"

The lone ranger stared at her for a long moment, and it took all of Lyaella's willpower to keep herself from making another deep inhale and not cough as she stared back. If he realized there was something wrong, he'd alert everyone here at Castle Black before she could even say, 'I have bad lungs.' She couldn't let that happened. She didn't like Maester Marlon's disgusting tonic. She wasn't drinking it, period. And she didn't want Jon to find out that she was sick either. Despite their fight earlier, she didn't want him to find out about her health issues. This was her problem to deal with, not his. And besides… it's not like he wanted to anything to do with her judging by their argument earlier. She didn't blame him for that, considering who she was, after all. It was only natural he shouldn't care about one lonely, shy little girl who cried over everything, at the end of the day.

To her great relief, the ranger soon nodded. "Fine. I'll let you down then, if you want. Turn the lever for you.

"T-Thank… Thank you," she said, feeling rather drained. She was relieved that he'd been satisfied with that minimal response. To talk at all right now felt rather taxing.

Climbing into the lift, she forced herself to hold her breath and give a tight smile as the ranger sent her down. She kept it up too even though her lungs were throbbing for reprieve and more air until she had gone down far enough that he was completely out of sight. Only then did she double over and exhale, clutching her knees as she gasped for fresh air. It felt good to get more oxygen, but at the same time it seemed like she couldn't breathe enough. Like… like one lung was working at half it's strength while the other was so stuffed full of liquid that air couldn't get in.

Slowly straightening up, Lyaella ignored the view of the world zipping past and simply clung to the metal wire-work zigzagging across the side windows. She needed to stand. If she fell over in here, she might accidentally off balance the whole elevator and drop to her death in this rickety box. She just needed to make it back down to the courtyard and she'd be okay. Sōnar would support her as she slipped into the Mess Hall to find some water. She was going to be fine.

"Br… B-Breathe…" she panted, slowly closing her eyes. "J-Just… Just bre—"

A new wave of disgusting coughs cut her off, and she groaned as each one made her chest tighten even more. This was definitely one of the worst attacks she'd had in a long time. But why now? Why'd it have to happen while she was here at the Wall? Why'd it have to happen on the same day Jon made it clear he didn't like her? She hadn't wanted him to know about her stupid lungs from the beginning, but now she had to keep them secret more than ever. No reason to give him more incentive to think she was a waste of space and annoying.

It seemed to take an eternity, but at last, the lift made it all the way to the bottom. Overjoyed, Lyaella let out a breathy smile and heaved herself to the door, all but flinging it open as she staggered out. Sōnar had arrived long before she did, and she crooned happily upon seeing the child slowly descend the walkway steps towards her, clutching the railing with both arms for support.

Lyaella tiredly smiled when she reached her dragon, patting her only once. "H-Hi…" she moaned, exhausted by all the heavy coughs and wheezes. Thank goodness she'd gotten down here so fast. Now that it was nighttime, there was no one loitering around the courtyard. She still didn't want to go running for real help, but without assistance, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it to the Main Hall. At least not while hurrying, and she needed to hurry. The faster she got some water to wash away all this gunk in her lungs, the faster she'd be able to fully breathe again.

Coughing a bit more, she weakly nudged Sōnar's wing to get her attention.

"Come… Come on, S-Sōnar… Let's… Let's go f-find wa… water…"

Sōnar rumbled. Unfurling her wing so her mistress would stay firmly nestled against her side, the dragon slowly moved forward, Lyaella panting and wheezing the whole time as she kept one arm wrapped around her. The little girl was in a daze the whole time as they tromped through the snow, her only coherent thoughts being finding water and breathing as much as she could. Everything was going to be fine as soon as they made it over there. She'd drink some water. She'd be fine. No one… No one would have to find out what was happening right now. Just make it over there, and everything would turn out fine.

But then again… had the courtyard always been so big here at Castle Black? The main entrance seemed oh so far away to her unfocused eyes, and with her shallow breaths thanks to attack, she felt slightly lightheaded and disoriented. Every step she was forced to take took tremendous effort on her part, and her chest was so unbearably tight it felt as though some invisible person was trying to shove her down to the ground which each movement. It made her legs shake the entire time, and her anxiety grew. She had to get into that room and pour herself some water now, before her legs gave way on her.

Sadly, they were three-quarters of the way across the courtyard when she finally noticed the flickering light emanating from underneath the closed door, and the distinctive sounds of people's chatter as cheaply made utensils scraped across tin plates. People were still inside, eating dinner. To go in there right now meant everyone would see her and find out about her lung problems.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she tried to sob in dismay, but that only led her coughing hard again. Sōnar warbled worriedly, but she couldn't say anything to her dragon, not when more gunk gathered in her mouth and she was forced to spit out excessive amounts of solid white snot in the snow. Thank goodness it was white and blended in easily. Had it been yellow or green, there was the chance someone might notice.

It took her quite a bit until she could find the strength to attempt to talk again. "Sorry… I'm f-fine…" she whispered, her voice not able to go any higher. "L-Let's… Let's l-look for… for water… w-water barrels…"

Sōnar squawked, shocked. Ignoring her mistress, she tried leading her to the door, but Lyaella launched her whole body towards her neck, wrapping both arms around her with all her body weight.

"N-No! We… W-We're not… not telling p-people! We look… l-look for water al… alone…!"

Lyaella mustered what little strength she still had left to shove her dragon towards the forge. Her dragon rumbled uneasily at her, but Lyaella ignored her. There were barrels over there. Surely one had to have clean water inside, and it was warmer over there too thanks to the burning grates. Any chance of water in the courtyard that wasn't frozen solid would have to be in that area. She was certain of it.

She was wheezing harder than ever as they made it to the forge, and as soon as they were close enough, she let go of her dragon and tried moving closer to a nearby anvil to lean upon. It was less than two steps to her left, but it was too hard. The moment she let go of Sōnar, her legs gave out from under her, and she tumbled face first into the cluster of grungy, brownish black snow caked in soot.

That was the last straw for Sōnar. She started hooting and flapping her wings wildly, not trying to fly so much as make lots of noise and kicking up snow to attract attention.

"N-No, st… stop! Q-Q-Quiet!" Struggling to sit up, Lyaella ignored the chill of the dirty snow clinging to her dress and crawled forward to beat her fist as hard as she could against Sōnar chest. It was the only sensitive area on a dragon's body due to the lack of scales. She didn't enjoy harming her dragon sister, but she needed Sōnar to shut up immediately. Her dragon might think she was helping, but attracting attention was not the right call. "P-Please…! St… S-Stop…!"

To her relief, Sōnar did stop, disgruntled by the little girl's minor jabs, but not before the door to the Main Hall opened, revealing a handful of tired Baratheon soldiers. Whimpering fearfully, Lyaella quickly crawled further ahead, hiding around the opposite of the forge.

"Hey, you! Beast!" yelled an unknown voice. "You got a problem or something?! Shut up!"

"It's been a long day! Quit your fucking roaring!" cried someone else. "We're drunk and we're tired!"

"Were it up to… to me, you flying snake…" said a rather unsteady third voice. "You and… and that bastard dragon girl would be—"

Sōnar snarled, baring her fangs. Lyaella shuddered, doing her best to quietly shush her despite how heavily she was wheezing. It was a miracle those men were drunk and didn't take note of it. The only thing they noticed was Sōnar.

"Foul beast! I'll… I'll take you on with… with this!"

The first two voices chuckled and groaned "Do it tomorrow. When you don't confuse your sword with that chicken bone."

"Come on. Let's be off with you."

"What?! But… But I'm gonna kill me a… a dragon!"

"Tomorrow, all right? Come on."

Lyaella wanted to breath a deep sigh of relief as she heard them all go up the walkways and a then door close somewhere, but it was getting harder and harder for her to take deep breaths. It was only exhausting her now that her chest hurt so much. Instead, she weakly waved her hand to get Sōnar to come over.

"H-Help me… up, Sōnar. Pl… P-Please…"

Sōnar warbled and bent her head down. Lyaella tried to use her as support, but as soon as she was up, her legs gave way again and she tumbled back down. Sōnar squawked worriedly again as she struggled to sit up, breathing even heavier now than before.

Lyaella shivered, cheeks flushing red from both the heavy exertion of it all along with the freezing temperature of all the snow. She wanted to assure Sōnar that she was still okay, but that'd be a lie at this point, and she was so breathy now she needed to save her words for when she absolutely needed them. She didn't even try patting her dragon to calm her. She just tried to rising again, slower than before. But it was no use. Her strength left her right away and she fell into another mucky snow clump.

This time, she didn't try to get up again, or even sit up. She just rolled over to be laying on her back and stayed there, staring up at the pitch black sky while panting desperately for air. Aside from reaching blindly around until she felt her dragon sisters' scales, she didn't try to do anything, not even wipe off the disgusting snow was staining her dress. To do anything right now would mean distracting her from breathing.

Every gasp was a battle.

Every wheeze was a struggle.

How long was she going to have to stay lying here in this snow bank until she got her strength back?

Fresh hot tears rolled down her cheeks and into her ears. She wanted to wipe them away, but it wasn't worth the energy to move her hand. She sobbed, but that just made her cough out more gunk. She didn't even try to wipe her face from the phlegm dribbling on the side of her mouth. She let her eyes droop, giving in to her exhaustion.

"T-Tor… Tory. Shadow…" she whispered. "F-Father…"

Perhaps she should just fall sleep right here. If she slept, she could dream that she was reunited with her beloved twin. And not only would they finally meet their amazing mother Daenerys Targaryen, but Jon Snow would actually like her and be excited when she introduced him to his lookalike in her brother. Yes, that was a good idea. She'd just sleep for awhile…

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Her eyes flew open, alarmed. What on earth—?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Something was happening less than a few yards away from her. Was Sōnar acting up again, trying to call for help for her? She told her not to!

"S-Sōnar…? Wh… What're y-you—?"

Her dragon warbled, sounding equally perplexed. Whatever was happening, it apparently wasn't Sōnar's doing.

It took every last bit of energy Lyaella still had left to sit up and look around. She was dazed, but at first glance she didn't see anything different in her surroundings. Then she saw it, and she turned as white as her hair.

The door to the old, rickety shed, where the Night's Watch kept an unknown monstrosity locked up. It was banging harshly from the inside against its metal padlock.

Her eyes bulged as she whimpered, trying with everything she had to crawl away. She'd been so focused on hiding from those soldiers, she'd forgotten about the shed she and Shireen had stumbled upon that first day she wandered around Castle Black. She'd forgotten about the monster. Her heart raced as she heard the beast inside yip repeatedly, clawing at the wood of the door. She could barely breathe, but somehow, she had to get away from here. Whatever that thing was, it sounded big. And it wanted out. She was as good as dead if she was still around if that busted out of there.

Ignoring the persistent growling and digging into the snow by the beast, Lyaella wheezed harder than ever as she tried to rise. "H… H-Help me, Sōnar…! Help!"

Hooting away, Sōnar nudged her up, offering her the chance to hold onto her neck. Lyaella reached, but she barely managed to make it up to her knees before her lungs gave way and she fell down in the snow. Rasping for breath, she tried again, but only got the same result.

More yips came from the shed, followed by furious panting and endless banging. Abandoning any hope of standing, she tried to crawl. Her chest was a vice, but she had to try. She hadn't found her brother yet. She hadn't even met her mother. She didn't want to die being torn apart by some insane—

A crash of wood splintering apart erupted, and then there was silence. She heard Sōnar squawk in surprise, but Lyaella just shut her eyes and flopped back down in breathless resignation. So this was it. This was to be—

Quiet paws dashed across the snow, and a moment later frenzied panting resounded near her ear. Along with sniffing. Then, strangely enough, something hot and slimy started swiping its way across her cheek before a cold wet thing nudged her. What in the world?

Coughing lightly, she struggled to open her eyes. Standing directly in front of her was indeed a large, furry creature. A white one, to be exact. White as the snow in her name. With a wet black nose, a long pink tongue, and two red eyes boring down on her with obvious worry. The same red eyes that she knew Shadow had. That she remembered from a certain old, beautiful white wolf she and Torrhen desperately loved in their earliest memories before closing forever one ill-fated night.

"G… Ghost!" she rasped, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she looked up at the white direwolf. Her father's direwolf. "It's… I-It's you…!"

Ghost licked her again, nudging her a bit with his black nose. Sōnar hooted, also recognizing the wolf. So he was what was locked away in that shed. Had she'd known it was him in there, she wouldn't have been scared. He was her father's dearest companion, and she remembered how smart he was. She'd been discretely searching for him here at Castle Black for awhile now. The only reason why she hadn't asked where he was at was because she'd never heard anyone mention him by name, so she couldn't think of a way to ask about him. He must've smelled her out here, smelled Jon's scene mixed in with her own. Were she not sick right now, she'd be pampering him with kisses and hugs. She was so glad she—

Licking her again, the wolf suddenly turned and dashed away, not even sparing her or her dragon sister a second glance.

"H… H-Hey! W… Wait!" she rasped. "Ghost… G-Ghost, co… come back!"

---

"You've been staring into that mug for ages. You gonna drink that ale or not?"

"What…? Oh, no. No, you can have it. Here."

"And what about your plate? You've haven't touched anything."

"Aye, I know. Just… got a lot on my mind."

"Like how you snapped at the kid?"

"Edd."

"What, Sam? We all know that's the reason why he's brooding away this time, after all."

Jon sighed, shoving away the uneaten meal. Everyone else here in the Main Lodge was talking animatedly as they had dinner, but he had no appetite. He couldn't even think about food right now.

Ever since he'd lost his temper and yelled at Lyaella earlier, he'd regretted it. He shouldn't have snapped like that. He only wanted her to stop pestering him with those questions in front of everyone. He hadn't meant to upset her, nor did he mean to alarm her in what she'd said about how her father died.

Running his hands through his hair, he turned away from his two friends and glanced over at Stannis' party off to the side. His grace often chose for himself and his family to dine alone in their private chambers here at the Wall, but Princess Shireen had been quite insistent in eating out here with the rest of the Watch and her father's soldiers tonight. The little girl had heard all about how Lyaella had gotten upset earlier, and despite how obviously enraged Queen Selyse was, Shireen was determined to sit out here for as long as it took until her friend appeared. She wanted to make sure she was okay.

Truth be told, that was the only reason why Jon had even come to dinner tonight. He needed to apologize to Lyaella, assure her that he hadn't meant to insult her about what he'd said about her knowledge regarding Northern customs. Granted, Stannis had pulled him aside after she'd run off crying to the top of the Wall and explained how she'd already been upset prior to how he lost his temper with her, but the story the king provided Jon with only puzzled him more. He knew why he turned down Stannis' offer — he was a man of the Night's Watch, and he couldn't forsake his vows — but what did Lyaella have against legitimization? And what was it about what Melisandre had told her that scared her so badly? A wisp of blood? The sentence sounded rather weird, but was so frightening about—?

A flurry of alarmed shouts and screams suddenly filled the room, followed swiftly by the whistling of steel as many soldiers in Stannis' army drew their blades. Jon barely even had the chance to absorb the sudden change when a blur of white bounded straight towards the High Table where he was, diving underneath and launching itself upon him so hard, he fell out of his chair.

"What the—?!"

"The fuck—?!"

"Stay back, my lady, my princess!"

"Bloody wolf!"

"SNOW!"

It was madness, everyones screams, but Jon couldn't focus on anyone. Not when Ghost had somehow broken out of the shed, bounded straight in here, and for reasons unknown was frantically clawing and nipping away at his arm.

"Ghost, stop — stop that!" he yelled, wrenching his arm free and getting back up. "What are you—?!"

His direwolf snarled, now trying to bite away at his leg. As soon as he sank his teeth into his britches, he tried to drag him off. Jon stumbled forward, doing his best to shake him away.

"Seven hells, Lord Snow!" roared Thorne from across the room, his face reddening in his rage. "I told you that wolf was a danger here!"

"Lord Commander! What is that thing?!" Stannis demanded, quickly joining Davos and the rest of the soldiers in shielding the startled Selyse, wide-eyed Shireen, and rapidly blinking Melisandre behind him.

Jon couldn't even answer the king. Ghost had abandoned his leg, bolted away a few feet, then stopped to whip around and look at him. He howled at the top of his lungs, so loud in fact that many were forced to cover their ears. Jon just jerked back, alarmed. It was so rare for Ghost to make any sound other than the occasional whine or furious growl. Why was he—?

He growled again, then bounded back up to him and bit down on his cloak. This time, Jon was literally dragged at least three feet away from his chair before he grabbed onto the edge of the table, preventing himself from moving further. "Ghost, enough! What — What're you—?!"

And then again, Ghost released him, dashed away a couple feet, and howled at him. Then ran right back and tried all over again.

"Jon! What's… What's happening here?!" Sam called out, passing Little Sam to Gilly and urging her to get behind him. "What's he doing?!"

Jon just numbly shook his head. He'd never seen Ghost act like this before. If he didn't know any better, he'd say his friend was trying desperately to make him follow him…

Ignoring everyone, he let go of the table and slowly followed his direwolf when he took off running once more.

"Snow!"

"Jon?"

"Lord Commander, do not ignore me! I demand a full explanation!"

Jon didn't even register anything Thorne, Sam, or Stannis said. He just obediently followed his direwolf across the room and out the door. There was no way Ghost would be acting like this if something serious wasn't going on. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that everyone else was following him.

As soon as they were out in the courtyard, Ghost bolted off towards the forge, kicking up clouds of snow in his rush. On the opposite side of the smithy, Jon could make out the shape of Lyaella's dragon lingering about. It was warbling constantly at something on the ground that he couldn't see, but when Ghost reached the dragon, it's head snapped around, noticing them all at last. Immediately, it emerged fully from behind the forge and started trilling loudly while frantically flapping its wings.

Everyone else recoiled in terror.

"Damn that dragon!" a random Stormlander shouted. "What's it want?!"

Jon only shrugged, having no answer. He was pretty alarmed himself, but why was Ghost running over to that beast when it was clearly on edge? He hoped the dragon wouldn't start spitting fire. Ghost would be gone forever if that happened.

"Stay back, my lady!"

"Princess!"

"Shireen, get back here this instant!"

Stannis' daughter disregarded the soldiers and her mother's cries and quickly shoved her way through the crowd until she was standing right beside him. She didn't seem frightened at all anymore. If anything, the princess appeared puzzled. "Sōnar? Sōnar, what's wrong?" she called out. "Why're you acting like that?"

The white and blue dragon hooted excitedly at the sight of Shireen, a few embers escaping from its mouth as it moved a few paces closer. Ghost then reappeared from behind the forge, his red eyes boring directly into Jon from across the courtyard.

He felt a tugging on his cloak suddenly and looked down. Shireen was gazing up at him, her brown eyes shining with obvious worry. "I'm not sure where that giant white wolf over there came from," she murmured, biting her lip, "but… but I've spent a lot of time with Lyaella's dragon in the library. She… She wouldn't act that way for no reason…"

Jon thickly swallowed, slowly glancing back to the forge. He'd been avoiding the dragon as much as possible, so he didn't anything about that, but he knew Ghost. His wolf was definitely trying to tell him something.

"Shireen! Get back!" screamed Queen Selyse. She, Stannis, and Stannis advisers shoved their way through the crowd, yanking the little girl away. But despite her generally sweet nature, the child was a Baratheon, and she fought tooth and nail against the tight grips of all the hands restraining with all the fury of her House's words.

"L-Let go of me!" she screamed. "I wanna see w-what's wrong with—!"

"Lord Commander, what're you doing?!"

Jon disregarded Stannis' question and trudged forward. All across Castle Black, those who hadn't been at dinner and were loitering about in other areas of the rundown fort were poking their heads out from numerous doors to see what was happening, and from the various cells and storerooms that they'd been keeping Tormund and the rest of the Free Folk locked up, they all peered out curiously from between the cell bars or storeroom windows.

"King Crow!" he heard his former friend among the Free Folk shout. "I've always known yeh're as mad as fuck, but I took yeh for suicidal! That dragon's gonna roast yer bloody balls off!"

Jon ignored Tormund the same way he ignored Stannis. They could all call him a fool if they wanted for approaching the agitated dragon, but Ghost was trying to tell him something. There was no way his direwolf would be so adamant for him to follow him over there if something wasn't wrong.

Still, he stopped momentarily as he neared the dragon, very nervous. The dragon squawked, impatient. It's blue eyes stared straight into his as it continuously jerked its head, trying to beckon him to go to the very back of the forge. Jon didn't know why, but for some reason he could swear he could sense something coming from the dragon. It almost felt like… fear?

Ghost whined at him, then turned and trotted back behind the forge. Moments later, he stuck his head back out, gazing directly at him.

Everyone in the background was yelling for him to either get back or to explain what was going on, but their shouts were nothing more than a far-off buzz to Jon's ears. Something wasn't right here. What were Ghost and Lyaella's dragon trying to tell him?

Then he heard it. The telltale sound of someone hacking their lungs out, followed by a weak groan.

Jon jerked. Forgetting everything he shot past the dragon and poked his head around the forge. His eyes boggled.

"Lyaella!" he shouted, rushing forward. The little girl was sprawled out face-first in a small snowdrift, barely moving. Her dress and cloak were a mess, covered in the grungy remnants of mucked up sleet and slush. Had someone tried to hurt her? He'd be executing someone else tonight if they did. He made it clear to the Night's Watch on his election that Thorne's rules regarding Lyaella Snow were still in effect even if he was in charge now. If someone broke those rules by trying to kill her or worse… more heads would be rolling before dawn, make no mistake about that.

Squatting down, he carefully flipped her over, scanning her from head to toe for any obvious injuries. Her face was a vivid shade of scarlet and she was panting, but she didn't appear hurt at first glance. Still, anything was possible with the men here in the Night's Watch…

"What's wrong?! Did someone try to hurt you?!"

She just gazed up at him with half-lidded eyes, struggling to focus. "J… J-Jon…?"

Her words were barely louder than a whisper, but at least she was conscious. That was something, if nothing else. "What happened, Lyaella?! Talk to me!"

Tears flooded her eyes as she struggled to find her words, her tiny chest slowly rising with each heavy breath. "I… I…"

He shook her harder, desperate to keep her awake. "Lyaella!"

Footsteps pounded in the snow behind him. Multiple footsteps. Seconds later, he heard several gasps and one frantic scream.

"L-Lyaella!" shrieked Shireen, flinging herself down next to him and shaking her even harder than he had. "Lyaella, what's wrong?!"

"Seven hells…" he heard Stannis murmur, sounding just as shocked as Jon felt. "Is she all right?"

Davos mutely shook his head, whipping off his cloak and he joined Jon and Shireen on the ground. As he bundled up the shivering child, Thorne quickly turned to all the onlookers. "Someone here better fess up! Who attacked the Targaryen child?!"

Jon heard murmurs of denial from the onlookers, but he ignored them all. Other than glancing up when Ghost and her dragon approached with an anxious whine and sorrowful warble, he kept his attention focused solely on Lyaella. His mind was racing as he struggled to recall who hadn't been at dinner tonight. Were any of those men known killers? Known molesters?

With as much politeness as he could, he gently nudged the sobbing princess out of the way to carefully tuck his arm under Lyaella's shoulders, propping her up a bit. Her hand flew to her chest at the sudden movement, and she broke out into a fit of disgusting coughs. Stunned, he slowly swept the strands of silver hair hanging in her face aside, not at all sure what else to do. It was a good thing he did though, because strands of spit soon expelled from her mouth.

Thorned gaped, but Stannis and Davos ignored their own shock to try dragging Shireen out of the way. She ignored her father and the smuggler though, batting away their hands as she blinked repeatedly.

Jon bit his lip, his stomach rolling. Something wasn't right. If she'd been attacked, why wasn't she bleeding? Why wasn't she black and blue with bruises? Her dress and cloak were filthy, but there were no rips or tears. No signs of a struggle. And even if she'd been attacked, she wouldn't be coughing like that. What… What exactly was happening here?

Swallowing thickly despite his dry mouth, Jon gently nudged her again. "L-Lyaella…?" he asked, his voice quavering.

She moaned, wheezing hard. "Wa… W-Water…" she breathlessly rasped. "Water… C-Can't… Can't bre—" she stopped, hacking up her lungs again, as more spit came out. Only this time, a small bit landed on him, and he definitely saw a huge chunk of phlegm mixed in.

Disgust didn't even cross his mind. Understanding coursed through him, his heart pounding wildly. "Sam!" he yelled, whipping back to the crowd. "Sam — get Maester Aemon!"

"What—? But — But he retired early — said he didn't feel well—"

"Wake him, now! That's an order!"

Shoving Shireen aside, he scrambled to his feet and scooped the little girl up in his arms. Barely even looking at the few surrounding him, he cradled the Lyaella to his chest as he bolted to the walkways leading up to Maester Aemon's private solar. Many in the crowd were loitering around there and he was prepared to scream at them all to clear a path, but Sōnar and Ghost were right on his heels, roaring and growling at everyone to force them to move aside. That did the trick, and people rapidly leapt aside as he dashed past. As soon as they got a good look at Lyaella's condition, their expressions turned from confused to alarmed.

Jon barely even saw them in his rush. The only things he could focus on was the round figure of his friend scrambling up the walkway just ahead of him as he banged repeatedly on Maester Aemon's door, and the choked gasps Lyaella struggled to make as she squirmed in his arms.

He didn't know what was happening with her, but it was clear she needed help. And he'd make sure she'd get it.