act i . chapter i

THE SHE-WOLF
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IT WAS A CLEAR MORNING in the Northern Kingdom and Winterfell was buzzing with the sudden inclination to be productive. The white ravens from the Citadel had arrived with great news: Spring has begun. The white snow was weeping into the dark, lush Northern ground and grasses and flowers were springing up every which way. The trees were growing greener and the animals were already active and awake.

Rickard Stark, Paramount Lord and Warden of the North was quick at work with the people of his castle, sure to get a good start in the summer. They must always be prepared, for there is one phrase that is never untrue: Winter is coming.

Brandon Stark, too, was quick at work at his father's orders, readying horses and supplies for a long drive south. Winterfell received three letters that morning. The first, sent by Lord Whent of Harrenhal, invited Lord Rickard to a tournament in honor of his maiden daughter. Lord Whent had invited so many and Lord Stark had his ink ready to decline the offer, sure it wouldn't harm the grand guest list.

That was until he received the second letter. With meticulous care, it had been coded and sent to the hands of Lord Rickard Stark by the Crown Prince himself in the pocket of a rider. The contents of that letter left Rickard sending an apprehensive acceptance of the invitation to the lesser Lord Whent of Harrenhal in the Riverlands. The third letter was only a confirmation of both from Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale. He had departed from the Eyrie with Rickard's second son, Eddard, and his other fostered boy, the Lord Paramount of the Storm lands, Robert Baratheon.

Lord Rickard was unsure about this turn of events. It reminded him of the familiar, ominous words that he hears ever so often: Dark Wings, Dark Words.

With a disappointed attitude, he realized his maiden daughter should accompany him to the tournament. She would have the opportunity to spend time with her betrothed. The whole thought, however, was dark. Lyanna hated Robert. She hated the Stormlands. And taking the wild She-Wolf to a great tourney could prove problematic.

Yet, she must go, and she must awake and give her Lord father an audience. He called for her and Benjen's nurse and told her, "Inform my daughter that I require her presence before me within the hour." He spoke with care and sterness in his aging voice, hopeful that the attentive nurse will pass a warning along.

"My Lord, I haven't any clue where she is," the nurse returned, her wrinkled, tired face not worried in the slightest. The nurse knew the girl's ways as Rickard did. "She was absent when I set out to wake her earlier. Her horse is also absent, My Lord."

The Lord of Winterfell pushed the air in his lungs out his nose, making a swirling cloud of mist around his head. "I should have known," he apologized to the woman. "Be off now."

"Yes, Lord Stark," she said, curtsying and getting on her way. Rickard sighed, looking over the Winterfell walls, into the snowy pines in wonder of what his wild daughter may be doing.

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"Benjen!" Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell called out across the clearing. Her dark braid whipped around her in the wind. She was atop her mount, a gray mare with a small stature, like hers. The noble Lady held up a dead rabbit by the ears for her younger brother to see. She could still feel the warmth through the fur-lined leather gloves. "I've got one! Lunch!"

Lyanna saw Benjen look up and nod. He took off across the clearing on his horse, a looming, black destrier that had never seen a battle. Lyanna smiled at the thought of her and her little brother out in the free woods with the chill morning air whipping through her loosely braided hair.

The young daughter of Stark was a wild woman grown. She almost peaked five and a half feet tall, but her feisty nature sure made up for it. Her mother, father, and nurse chased her around, trying to get her to act like the Lady she was, but they soon realized that there was no triumph in their efforts.

When she was a young girl, she was straight and stringy with big feet. Few people predicted what beauty she would turn out to be. As she grew, her straight hips curved, her stringy legs and arms became toned, and her movements became as graceful as the swift, smooth movements of her sigil.

The She-Wolf, they called her. Lord Rickard swears that the Gods had an accidental spill when giving her "wolf's blood". But she was magnificent anyway. With her shining dark hair, full lips, and gray Stark eyes, she could be the fantasy of any man. The Wolf Maid was one of the more envious maidens in the Seven Kingdoms.

Unfortunately, her Lord father had already promised her to a man that one could argue is also one of the most sought after Lords in the Seven Kingdoms. Robert Baratheon was Lord Paramount of the Stormlands in the south. He was six and a half feet tall, long and lean with a charming, boisterous nature. His black hair was coarse and thick and covered his whole body. Her big brother, Ned, who fostered with him since he was a boy, says that he should have been born a Northman.

People spread talk of Robert being one of the strongest and deadliest men in the Seven Kingdoms and he had proved that. His only rival in combat is his distant cousin, the Crown Prince himself. Robert was clean-shaven, muscled, and smirking like every maiden's fantasy.

But not Lyanna's. Lyanna knew Robert. She knew he was a beautiful man who was a skilled combatant. But she also knew he was headstrong, violent, drunk, and already had a bastard in the Vale. She knew Robert and she knew that he loved her. But she also knew that he would never keep one bed, and he'd never be good to her.

Not only that, but a Stag could never tame a Wolf. He could never make Lyanna love him, and she could never make herself be a good wife to him. She was too... Lyanna for that. She knew it too. It was her duty to marry the angry, drunken fool and to mother his sons. There was nothing she could do about that fact.

When her 13-year-old brother trotted up to the fire she had built, he swung off his big, black horse and plopped to the ground with a growl. "What is it, Benjen?" Lyanna asked him as she pulled the skin off her rabbit.

"I had tracked a stag. Then you yelled at me and the bloody thing ran off," he complained.

"Be glad," she said, sticking an iron arrow down the rabbit's skinned back and hanging it over the fire. "Father would have been angry if you came back with an entire stag to clean. He doesn't like to waste it. We need those animals for winter."

Benjen rolled his eyes. "Father would have never known. We could have cleaned it here and smuggled the meat to the kitchens. You know you would have had a start with that."

Lyanna smirked and shrugged her petite, yet strong shoulders. "You have me, Benjen," Lyanna admitted with a sly edge to her voice.

"Imagine how he's gonna be when he sees you in trousers and jousting pads!" Benjen prompted. Then he added, "Again."

Lyanna didn't care much for dresses when she left Winterfell walls. They got in the way of her riding and running. She also didn't care much for her father's scolding. "The Young Wolf should be thankful that he gets jousting practice with a seasoned rider such as me," Lyanna boasted. "I still won every time even though you're on a trained destrier."

"Not my fault you wanted to train your own yearling. The horsemaster could train her better if you'd let him," Benjen jested back. Benjen was shorter than his grown sister. He had sharp features. His jawline and cheekbones could cut diamonds. His nose was thin and pointed with a smile that cut like a knife. He had laughing gray eyes. His hair was dark and straight as a board and cut to frame his young, red flushed face. He was a very good company to keep, but being the youngest child, he was inspired and manipulated with ease.

Lyanna shook her head with a contempt curve on her full, pink lips. "We use these animals like machines. If you want them to truly be on your side, then you have to grow trust."

Benjen scoffed. "Horses are the dimmest creatures in the Known World." He laid back onto the wet, leaf-covered dirt. The melted snow licked his bare neck and sent a shiver down his spine. The water soaked through the cotton backing of his knees and underarms. It was home. He was a Stark of Winterfell. A bred direwolf. This was the North and he loved it.

"Not the dimmest," Lyanna argued, poking the coals under the kill. "Not as long as little Lord Benjen Stark is alive!"

"You vile girl," he said, not able to hold back his impish grin. "Take it back." A childish smile overtook Lyanna's young body. "Make me," she contested.

Benjen leaped over the fire and tackled his older sister to the ground, trying his hardest to pin her. The sad truth was that he had not hit his growth spurt yet, so he was considerably smaller than his boyish sister who contested his strength.

As they were fooling around in the leaves and struggling for power, a heavy-footed horse approached them in the woods.

"Benjen Stark, unhand your sister this instant! She is a girl and you are almost a man grown! Have you no honor?" a booming voice spread throughout the open air, startling the wrestling siblings. Lyanna recognized that voice.

"Brandon?" she asked, pushing Benjen off her and getting to her feet, nimble and quick. "When did you come to Winterfell, brother?"

Their eldest brother and heir to their ancestral home, Brandon, was a big, strong man of twenty who divided his time between Winterfell and his foster castle at Barrowtown with Lord Dustin. He was a handsome man who wore a thick, unkempt beard and was by far the best swordsman and rider of the Stark children. He was not a shy man and as Lyanna did, possessed a spill of what her father called "wolf's blood".

Brandon and Lyanna were far too alike in their respects of self-pride and hyperactivity. It was the root of their discontent. However much they may quarrel, they are still Starks of Winterfell and must stay close.

"I came in the night, Lyanna. You haven't heard on account of you deciding to gallivant in the forest all morning." He seemed impatient. Angry almost. But also a bit excited. "What are you wearing? Were you two about to eat wild rabbit?"

"I almost had a stag," Benjen said with his chest out. Brandon's gray eyes grew dark. "Father needs you both at Winterfell. Mount your rides and make haste. We leave at dawn for Harrenhal."

His deep, leading voice struck them deep and spurred them to do as he said. Lyanna didn't bother asking what the occasion was. She decided it was better to get to Winterfell as quickly as possible and make sure her father didn't see her jousting pads. She and Benjen continued to share scared, excited looks all the way to Winterfell.

Lyanna was curious, though. If Brandon was here, did that mean Ned was too? For sure if something had happened, he'd be on the way to Winterfell. Or rather Harrenhal is where he'd be going. Why would they be going to Harrenhal of all places?

When they passed through the gates, Lyanna turned her horse to go to the Great Keep, but Brandon barked, "Don't bother, sister. With the occasion, you need to understand that you must be a Lady."

Lyanna turned the horse with a sour expression and slumped shoulders back to follow Brandon and Benjen, making a mocking face behind her older brother to amuse her younger one. What an innocent boy, she thought to herself as she watched the forbidden excitement come over him.

They put their horses in their proper stables and followed Brandon to the Great Hall where their Lord Father Rickard was speaking to Maester Warlys. Warlys nodded to the three of four Stark children entering, so Rickard turned his attention to them.

"Lyanna," he spoke, disappointment laced in his voice. "You can't leave these walls without a party. Benjen can't protect you and you can't protect Benjen. I am tired of the two of you sneaking out the way that you do. It is too dangerous. Wildlings, oathbreakers, thieves, murderers, rapists, and all sorts of wild animals. I'd like to say that the North is clean, but it's not."

Lyanna was not going to not go back outside Winterfell walls. With or without Benjen.

"I know you, daughter. I know you care not for scoldings or lectures or punishment, the Others take you. But gods know you love your brother. Next time I catch you outside the Walls, Benjen is receiving that punishment. That way, you might reflect on your dangerous deeds."

Lyanna's jaw dropped. She was not expecting such an unjust, yet clever move from her Lord father. Benjen receives the punishments for her ill deeds. That was not an idea that she was very warm with.

The Great Hall was silent after the Great Lord Rickard Stark raised his voice at his young maiden daughter. Lyanna knew better than anyone that he was not finished. He was yet to notice her bloody lip and Benjen's black eye, her trousers, or that she stole Ned's old jousting pads that he had left behind the last time he visited. They would no longer fit him.

Rickard Stark glanced at all his present children, and his head fell. "I'm tired, children. Tired of Lyanna's lack of dignity. Tired of Benjen following her around like a lost pup," he turned to focus on Benjen. "I don't usually get so angry, but a very important date is approaching and you, my son, cannot strike my daughter and leave scars on her face. She is a Great Lady. An unmarried maiden of House Stark. You can't hit her. You can't break her skin. She needs to be presentable. As do each of you. Benjen, Your black eye is going to be quite a talking point."

"Father, what's this occasion. This important date approaching?" Lyanna asked. "Why will anyone see my broken lip or Benjen's blackened eye?"

Rickard sighed. "We are attending a great tournament at Harrenhal, dear. All great Lords will be attending, North and South, East and West. Even the Crown is attending. Lord Whent and the others hosting require our presence and you all will be meeting all the Great Lords and Ladies of Westeros."

"Will the Sword of the Morning be there?" Benjen asked, excited.

Rickard cracked a smile. "Yes, son, Ser Arthur Dayne will be attending. He is a member of the kingsguard."

"And Barristan the Bold?" the adolescent boy asked again.

"He too is a member of the kingsguard," Rickard said with a nod. Lyanna had a burst of excitement. But not for any celebrities like Barristan Selmy or Arthur Dayne.

"Will the Vale be coming?" she asked, excited. "Will Ned be there?"

"Yes, Lya. As will your betrothed, Robert Baratheon. Likely to be in the lists. Perhaps he will crown you his Queen of Love and Beauty," Rickard suggested lightly. Lyanna's eyes grew dark.

"I care not for the big oaf!" she growled. "I would rather ride in the tourney myself and unhorse that brute!"

"Lyanna!" Rickard growled, startling everyone in the room. "Robert Baratheon is your betrothed and you will not speak ill of him. Go find your skirts and begin packing!"

Lyanna's nostrils flared madly as her light gray eyes filled with anger amongst the darkness. She turned with force and stomped out of the room.

Benjen turned to Brandon. "Are you going to be in the lists?" he asked the large man that was his brother.

Brandon's smile was wide. "I'll win it, little brother! And Lady Cat will be my Queen of Love and Beauty!" Brandon said. He was careful around his father. Rickard knew of his closeness to Barbrey Ryswell in Barrowtown. He understood why his father wouldn't allow him to marry the northern Lady. Brandon was one of the few that knew about his father's and the other Lord's ambitions. But Brandon loved her. He had already taken her maidenhead. Their sons would have been strong, dark Northmen. He hates that instead, he will receive weak redheads from the Tully woman.

He would never love the southern beauty, Catelyn Tully. She was sharp tempered and spoiled. But she was also honorable and dutiful. She would be a good wife. Just not someone he could love.

It wasn't his choice. Robert wasn't Lyanna's choice. But they needed to do their duty. Lyanna needed to do her duty. For the good of the realm.